Two pieces of burnt

    When we walked into the diner, it looked no different than any other diner you'd expect one to look like. The cute little tables, the long bar where single customers drank their coffee while waiting for breakfast. It all looked right out of a movie, but the roadside diner was very real and looked spectacular. My gal and I took one of the tables and smiled like your typical happy couple as the waitress strolled over and handed us a few menus.

    "Would you like anything to drink while you check out the menu?" the waitress asked us.

    "I'll have coffee please," I replied politely, "Thank you."

    "Me too," my lady said, smiling back.

    "Alright," the waitress said, smacking her gum. "I'll be right back."

    As she walked away, I couldn't help but snicker just a little bit.

    "What is it?" She asked.

    "I'm sorry, Rachel." I said, covering my mouth up. "It's the gum. It's just so unprofessional. The only way she could be more rude is if she stuck it underneath our table."

    "I know," Rachel said, smiling back as she was clearly better at keeping a straight face than I was. "The sound of her gum was just as annoying. That smacking sound makes my skin crawl."

"I can even see her eating it from here with her mouth open," I observed, "She looks like a horse trying to eat peanut butter."

    We both giggled for a moment but got it out of our system before the waitress returned with two mugs and poured us each a cup of fresh coffee.

    "Do you know what you want to order, hun?" She asked, in an unrecognizable drawl.

    "I'll take the cheese omelet." I answered, "Brown toast, and a side of bacon."

    "And you, honey?" the waitress asked, gesturing to Rachel.

    "I'll have the two egg breakfast special." She answered.

    "What kind of toast?" 

    "White, please."

    "Okay then, honey." the waitress said, taking our menus. "I'll be right back."

    "Okay then," I playfully mocked once she was far enough away not to hear me. We both laughed as I took the sugar and started to pour four tea spoons into it.

    "Jim," Rachel said, "You said you'd try to cut down."

    "I am," I insisted, "Instead of cutting down on the sugar, I decided to drink less coffee. When this cup is finished, I'll have water instead of a refill."

    "Okay," Rachel said, with a tone that didn't seem like she believed him. We sat there for a few minutes, just enjoying the silence until Rachel stood up.

    "I have to go to the bathroom." she declared.

    "Alright," I replied, "No need for details. I'll see you when you get back."

"Not if I see you first," Rachel said, as she grabbed her phone and scooted off.

Swiping her cell was a detail that told me she'll be chatting with a friend and killing time under the guise of taking a stiff dump. I on the other hand didn't give a shit, pun intended, and sometimes wished she was more honest about it. I also took out my smartphone and started troll people on twitter while waiting for my meal. Moments later the waitress arrived and placed a few plates onto the table.

    "Here ya go, hun." She said to me.

    "Excuse me," I quickly replied, as I scanned the food before me.

    "Yeah?" The waitress said, looking back at me.

    "What is that?" I said pointing to the plate in the center of the table.

    "That's your toast, hun." the waitress answered.

    "I remember ordering toast," I started, looking at the two black pieces of bread laying on the plate. "But that looks like two pieces of burnt. I don't remember ordering pieces of burnt with my omelet. Do you?"

    The waitress deeply sighed, as she realized that I was going to be one of those customers.

    "Websters defines toast as crisp, hot and browned." I continued, "Does that look browned to you? Because my bread looks blacker than Don Cheadle!"

    "How does Websters define asshole?" The waitress asked.

    "Last time I checked," I said, as I began to re-cock my sarcasm bazooka. "That is defined as an angry man who doesn't tip lippy waitresses for serving burnt food."

    The waitress responded by sighing a second time before picking up the plate of toast from the table.

    "I'm sorry, Sir." she replied, "I'll make up a new batch."

    "Thank you very much," I said back to her, this time with a polite tone.

    After the waitress retreated with my pieces of burnt, I started to nibble on my bacon and Omelet while waiting for Rachel to return from the bathroom. She returned a few minutes later and seemed happy to have her food waiting for her.

    "Nice," Rachel started as she sat down. She paused for a moment as she scanned the table. "Where's the toast?"

    I paused for a moment. "I sent it back."

   Rachel sat back and sighed. "I hope you didn't make a scene."

   "If I had, you would have heard it from the bathroom." I informed her. "I don't like eating pieces of burnt."

    "Oh my god, you called them pieces of burnt." Rachel repeated as she was stewing. "Please tell me you didn't compare them to Don Cheadle."

    "Well..." I started.

    "Oh for fuck's sake, Jim!" She called out, "I get it, you don't like burnt toast! But what the fuck do have you got against Don Cheadle?"

    "Nothing," I said, taken back by the question. "He's a very talented actor who just happens to have dark skin. You know I threw a shoe at the television when he didn't win Best Actor for Hotel Rwanda at the Oscars. That was total bullshit!"

    "Yes, it was." Rachel agreed, "But if you are a fan, how about you stop using him to grade how burnt your toast is."

    "Just seemed to fit," I replied, sticking to my guns. "If I'm going to make that kind of metaphor, I'd rather reference an actor that has talent and could use a little promoting. I bet that bitch doesn't even know who Don is, and that's her loss."

    "I get it," Rachel said, "It would be her loss if she never saw him in Picket Fences."

    "Exactly!" I said, but stopped talking when the waitress returned. 

    "Here you go hun," she said, smacking her gum again. "Toasted to Don Webster's liking."

   "Thank you," I said, biting my lip till it almost bled.

    As she walked away, Rachel grabbed a piece and pointed at me. "Don't say a damn word. Just eat your food because we need to get back on the road. Knowing Angie, she's probably already up there."

    "We were told to arrive at three o'clock." I said, checking my watch. "It's only one right now. Brown nosers like her usually follow orders. We'll be the first ones up there."

    "Just a feeling I have," Rachel said, "I wouldn't be surprised if her head was already up our boss' ass by the time we get there."

    "That much of a suck up?" I asked.

    "You have no idea." Rachel said, as it clearly upset her. "She'd do anything to get ahead."

    "Duly noted, Angie is an ass kisser." I acknowledged, "People like that piss me off. I'd give a week's salary to see you call out her shit."

    "I wish," Rachel said, thinking about it. "I care too much about my job and our stability to tell her what I really think."

    "Yeah, being responsible adults sucks ass." I concurred.

    When we finished up, Rachel quickly left to start the car. I handed a crisp twenty over to the waitress as she came to give me the bill.

    "Keep the change," I told her, which meant I had tipped her thirty percent.

   "I thought you said I wasn't getting a tip." The waitress said to me.

    "I had a change of heart," I said, as I stood up to put on my jacket. Rachel was already outside so I was confident in what I could get away with here. "But here's another tip: lower the setting on your fucking toasters."

    "Whatever, asshole." The waitress chided back.

    "Sticks and stones, hun." I said mockingly, "And lose the gum next time. You might get better tips if you stop doing a bad impersonation of Mister Ed."

    The waitress stood there in stunned silence, finally speechless for the first time, as I laughed out loud while walking back out to the car. If brunch was any indication from karma, this weekend was going to be fucking epic.