Thursday, July 19, 2012

Do You Want Fries With That?

So. MyPoolBoy and I go to Whataburger and I'm pretty sure that we saw a prostitution deal go down. (THAT sounds totally Harold and Kumarish doesn't it?) We sat at a table off to the side so that we could people watch because I haven't blogged in a while and I needed material. Whataburger did not disappoint. Across from us sat two women who looked like they had not yet recovered from the previous evening's festivities. Maybe even the previous week's festivities. Anyway... they started up a conversation with these guys wearing golf shirts who had arrived in a nice truck. One of the women (let's call her The Management) struck up a conversation with them that went something like this: "There's no good men in this town." (Now THAT's a pick-up line!) Translation - There's no men in the bars where we hang out that make enough money to buy their own drinks AND our drinks The Golf Shirts smiled and nodded and made the mistake of humoring her. "Well, we're not from here." Now... The Management took the social politeness as INTEREST and continued.... "That's good. We went out to the bars last night and it was just the same men as usual. Where are y'all from?" They told her. "Oh that's good." By this point, another pair of guys had arrived and seated themselves nearby. Ok. Let me rephrase that. Grizzly Adams and Barney Fife arrived and seated themselves nearby. The Management lowered her standards. "So where are y'all from?" They told her they used to be "from here" but now they lived somewhere else. "Oh that's good." This interpersonal communication proved to be more successful in that it involved more than one person in the conversation. Well "involved" beyond the point of me and MyPoolBoy listening in and muttering smart-a$$ responses to everything she spat out between bites of her Breakfast on a Bun. The gem was when she announced to both tables of men that right now she had no place to stay because her mother was about to kick her out. (Me under my breath: Why do you think that is?) The Golf Shirts left quickly in their nice new truck and she announced that she was going out to smoke and she would talk to Grizzly, Barney, and her sidekick in a little bit. The remainder of everyone else's meals continued in relieved silence and then the three got up and left at the same time. By the time that MyPoolBoy and I left, The Management had Grizzly Adams cornered at his work truck with Barney standing sheepishly at the passenger side waiting to get in. By the time we were through the double doors, The Management and her silent sidekick had started jaywalking across the highway to Walgreens. Grizzly and Barney had gotten in their truck and were pulling around to exit past the drive-thru. At this point, MyPoolBoy was receiving direct succinct orders from me to FOLLOW THEM FOLLOW THEM FOLLOW THEM! Sure enough. Grizzly's truck crossed the highway and pulled into the Walgreens parking lot. There was an exchange of words out in front of the RedBox rental machine and then the foursome entered the store. I had to continue my surveillance because of the aforementioned lack of blog material. They came out with beer and condoms. And then went to the motel across the street. Seriously. MyPoolBoy complained that all he ever got with his meal at Whataburger was heartburn.

No comments: