I walked up to Wanda (and friend), unmoved by the frown on her face. If she wanted to play "Whose mood is worse," she came to the wrong place. I was hungover, tired from a sad hook-up in a stranger's bed, and taking naps in the private party room between customers. She might as well have been sex with Andy Dick, because I WASN'T HAVING IT.
"Hi, may I bring you anything to drink?" I asked.
"No," she snarled, "but you may tell me why you don't have fried chicken tonight."
"Because that's an occasional special and not something permanently on our menu," I said.
"Well I want fried chicken," she replied.
Yeah? Well I want to wake up and be best friends with Madonna but life hands us curveballs so what the flying fuck do you want to eat instead, you entitled blob?
"We don't have it," I announced in the thick of a big yawn. "Something else?"
"Nope," Wanda said.
"Wanda...." her friend protested. "You have to eat something."
Oh she does?
"Nnnnnope," she repeated, this time folding her arms. "I'll just wait to have something at the movie."
"Cool cool and for you?" I asked her friend, who ordered a pepperoni flatbread.
Once the pithy appetizer arrived, Wanda waived me over and requested a plate.
"Well it's not friend chicken...." she started.
"Good observation!" I commended.
"...but I guess I'll eat some of it," she said.
Get out of town...
"The fried chicken is the only good thing here, by the way," she added, perhaps fearing she hadn't yet put too fine a point on the matter.
"Good to know!" I said before prancing off to another 30-second nap.
Once they finished the flatbread, I asked if they wanted to see a dessert menu.
"What's this week's bread pudding?" Wanda asked.
"Fried chicken," I said, joking.
Interested in neither dessert nor my jokes, Wanda and friend asked for the bill. Fortunately her friend paid and tipped well. As they were leaving, Wanda said pointedly, "You shouldn't have tipped that much," as her friend smiled into space. I smirked and stole away for another nap.