They had “his & her” Jaguars. Hers was purple, his was yellow. They used to come into the cheap family restaurant where I was a waiter. They came in every Sunday just when it was getting weedy and request me. They were fifty or sixty years old. She was of Mexican heritage, short hair, like her head was dipped in ink. He was white and bald and had liver spots. Sometimes they arrived in the yellow Jag, sometimes the purple, but they always parked in the handicapped parking place right up front, even though they both walked like bouncing colts. They were the same with the food as they were with everything else: never happy. This is just to say I hated their impossible to please snob asses, every smile I gave them was fake and this is probably why I hate them still. In those days I hated myself and they fed upon that. I remember I rode my bicycle to work all the way from Craycroft and Twenty Second Street. It had one speed and was puppy shit green.
Ha! Good point. Truth is that I'm working on a longer entry and it's a bit of a doozy. Should be up in a couple of days. Or I might throw in some lighter fare in the meantime. We'll see . . .
Don't give it to us all at once...Henry Miller said that...I signed up as a "follower", my first time...exciting...I couldn't get my picture right, but good enough...
Ignoring "Please Wait to be Seated" Sign
Underdressed
From a Non-Tipping Culture
Last two were the funniest! The scraggly mustache, t-shirt slogan and undies are hilarious...
ReplyDeletealso, I thought Tipping was a town in China...
Ever get these people?
ReplyDeleteThe Jags
They had “his & her” Jaguars.
Hers was purple, his was yellow.
They used to come into the cheap family restaurant
where I was a waiter.
They came in every Sunday
just when it was getting weedy
and request me.
They were fifty or sixty years old.
She was of Mexican heritage,
short hair, like her head was dipped in ink.
He was white and bald
and had liver spots.
Sometimes they arrived in the yellow Jag,
sometimes the purple,
but they always parked
in the handicapped parking place
right up front,
even though they both walked
like bouncing colts.
They were the same with the food
as they were with everything else:
never happy.
This is just to say I hated their impossible to please
snob asses,
every smile I gave them
was fake
and this is probably why
I hate them still.
In those days I hated myself
and they fed upon that.
I remember I rode my bicycle to work
all the way from Craycroft and
Twenty Second Street.
It had one speed
and was puppy shit
green.
See, you've got to pace yourself...these three cartoons should have been three different blogs...
ReplyDeleteHa! Good point. Truth is that I'm working on a longer entry and it's a bit of a doozy. Should be up in a couple of days. Or I might throw in some lighter fare in the meantime. We'll see . . .
ReplyDeleteDon't give it to us all at once...Henry Miller said that...I signed up as a "follower", my first time...exciting...I couldn't get my picture right, but good enough...
ReplyDeleteGood to have you on board, sir.
ReplyDelete