Diner the Sequel

So my waitress wants to kill me. I ordered applesauce as my side, choosing a healthier option than fries, and she brings me fries. As Donna Lewis sings “love you always forever” over head, I stew over my fries that I didn’t order. I ordered ginger ale and water and She’s refilled the ginger ale twice and I have to continually ask her for more water. It’s like she’s decided the diabetes menu only for me…
As peter cetera belts out “you’re the meaning in my life, you’re the inspiration” I ponder my inspiration for coming here. This diner has been a portal to revelation for me lo these many months. When I have a deep question, my hands guide the steering wheel here. The discomfort of my mind craves comfort food.

This particular meal isn’t so comforting as the whole order is basically wrong with exception of the burger. Of course it isn’t exactly what I ordered either. It’s beyond well done, when I ordered medium…this piece of meat is ridiculously over cooked. CSI couldn’t identify this.
… -and the waitress just scratched me with her nails…wow. She drew blood. Not a lot, but the very idea, cut by your waitress? Well this tip is nonexistent.
I was going to blog on gender performance and body policing. However I think I’ll just sign off from here till I get home. I always blog from my diner booth when I’m in here, but at this rate I might not make it out…