Nachos
July 30, 2009
The couple waited for their appetizers at the newly refurbished rib joint on a Saturday night. The atmosphere reeked of semi-controlled chaos and disorganization. It had already been an annoying evening, what with the careless hostess seating other coupleswithout a reservation who’d arrived later. (They knew, they’d overheard their conversations.)
Harried waitstaff rushed up and down the aisle with pained looks on their faces, clutching order pads and dropping drinks. A waitress swept up to their table, swinging a heavily laden tray in their direction.
“Nachos??” she eagerly exploded. The couple regarded each other bemusedly.
“Nope. Not ours.”
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