So, you want to hear somethin'?

      4/15/01 - Yeah, it's been a week, so sue me. I've been on and off of different shifts every day these past two weeks. It's not changing, either. I've got to be on days tomorrow, then back to mids for the week, despite having to get up to get some things done with my truck. Then I've got to work dayshift next weekend. I'm trying not to whine, so I suppose I'm telling you this as a reason for my recent lack of updates. Just plain haven't had all that much time to write. Been trying to get caught up on sleep. Ok, I've got no real serious thoughts as of late, so here ya go:

      So there I was, my mind tortured between chicken fried steak and some kind of chicken skillet. A subconscious thought of the hidden chicken relationship between these two foods skirted along the outside of my mind, and I let it go. It wouldn't affect my decision anyways, both entrees had chicken somewhere in the title. I sat across from Wikki, pondering. He was already set on the two slabs of beef with cheese. Simpleton. He used hunger as an excuse. "It's big, and I'm hungry," those were his words, if memory serves. My choice was not so easy. Breakfast or dinner? Both had some kind of "country style" sauce, so that point was negligable as well. The waitress, damn her bad timing. Wikki placed his order, he was prepared. Me, I looked down at the menu, then stared blankly off into space for a second, as though seriously contemplating what to get. Somewhere in the tracts of my mind, I realized that it was entirely too early in the day to eat dinner. Skillet, then. So I relayed my thoughts to the waitress, who was obviously unaffected by the sheer genius of my decision. I thought about it a bit more, and decided that the peppers that came with the meal didn't need to come with *my* meal. I told the waitress, watching her carefully loop the letters onto her little scratch pad which I'm sure would wind up in front of the cook.

      She sauntered off, and I wondered if it even crossed her mind how hard it was for me to come to the skillet conclusion. Probably not. Well, most likely not. Ok, definitely not. I sat slowly conversing with Wikki about the ways of the universe, specifically in our little corner of it. I made light of his decision to sleep in the bathroom the evening before, and he made sure to point out that the alcohol might have swayed his decision. I laughed, and there was the damn waitress again. Right in the middle of a good punchline, too, there she was, leaning across a table like some kind of Vegas lounge singer. Wearing her best I'm-sorry-to-bother you smile that can only be perfected by having to deal with ungrateful customers for a living, she asked me how I wanted my eggs. Eggs? According to the menu, I was supposed to have an omelet on top of my home fries. I was stumped by this sudden development in my food service, and my face showed it. Wikki looked at me and laughed out loud, the ingrate. The decision caught even me off gaurd, and I blurted out, "Scrambled!" My brain snapped like a rubber band, and it hit me what I had just said. Good choice; my mind patted itself on the back. Quick wits, that's it. Wikki, ever the gentleman, told me I looked like my head had stopped working for a moment. What was I to do? Tell him it did? No, I would never shame myself like that. I explained the omelet thing, and he made some kind of snide "Oh, yeah, that's it," comment. Bastard, catching my faults.

      We promptly got back into our discussion about the intricate workings of the cosmos, more specifically, about work. Talking about a guy named Dingus, who, despite the odd moniker, was actually a fine upstanding man. Both at work and not. We both got a smile at the mention of his name, half due to the name itself and half due to our fond memories of him. My recollection that hit was something about his ability to finger-roll a basketball no matter where on the court he stood. Odd, I thought to myself, and was just about to point out his talent to Wikki when the sorry-to-bother-you smile made its way into my peripheral vision again. Damn. Something about Wikki's food this time, and so I didn't bother to pay attention. She quickly floated off out of my view, and I looked sternly at Wikki. "You know," I said, with all seriousness, "I'll bet you my left big toe that they're gonna put a whole big pile of peppers on my food." A little flashcard popped up in my head of one single piece of home fry with a huge steaming pile of peppers heaped on top of it. "What do you have against peppers?" Wikki said, mainly due to his feeble mind not being able to grasp the fact that peppers just don't belong with breakfast food. I went on to explain to him how there were two very distinct categories of food, which were exclusive from one another: ones that had peppers and were good, and ones that should never have peppers on them. My skillet, if it isn't obvious yet, fell into the latter. I drew him a little mental picture, and he seemed to understand, or at least put off a good act like he did. You never know with Wikki, he's crafty.

      We had no more grave matters to discuss concerning space-time, so we decided to start making fun of the chef. Not a challenge, but a definite way to pass the time while waiting for food. The guy is an ass anyways, and deserved it. As we poked and prodded his pride from halfway across the resteraunt, Wikki's beef patties appeared, wrapped in bread. Of course, Wikki is a mustard freak, so he had to wait for her to get back with my food to get his mustard to properly top his burger. I sat, all ready to dig in as Wikki splattered yellow paste all over his burger, and realized that (guess) they had topped my skillet with a nice big pile of peppers. I slanted my eyes, they darted around the room suspiciously...had that fat tub of a man that wore chef gard behind the counter heard me? Bastards.

      Yes, there is a moral to the story. It isn't just the ramblings of a bored man without a serious thought in his head. You listening? Ok, here goes. The moral of the story is: don't discuss weighty matters at Denny's unless you want to be interupted. Bastards.

I've got all my old rants catalogued, so if you wanna read some of my old stuff, click HERE to see 'em.