Ok, weird. I’ve been to Ihop exactly twice in the last year (or five years, but not going to one in Portland is different than not going to one in East Lansing). Of those two times one of them was this morning. My daughter texted me and asked if I wanted to go to breakfast. I texted back the equivalent of mhghhmhh (translating into I just woke up where am I? Where’s my passport?) which she took to mean Yes and asked Denny’s or Ihop? I texted back Gahphump, which she took to mean Ihop.
She was in town (nothing is very far away around here, but she does live a township or two and city away) to talk to some professors at their behest. They really would like to see her in grad school. So we talked about options, the most exciting and, at least for right now, being an eight program in Ann Arbor that’d leave her with an MD and PhD in her field without having to listen to whiney patients scream or open up their messy insides. We also talked a bit about her bitch ass boyfriend.
The best part of the adventure was not, however, the conversation, or the basking in the glow of each other’s majestic presence or even the bitching or unlimited future potential.
The waitress had pink hair. That’s not so weird. It was the same pink as my daughters hair is in her new Facebook profile (which took me a few minutes to figure out was a wig, on my daughter, as I’ve known her her whole life and pink hair just would not surprise me, in fact I’m a little surprised her hair is hair colored). The waitress stopped by like three times in a minute to ask if we were ready. Within a second of her leaving we both said together “Bitch, please”.
After eating, the check totaled and signed on the end of the table three people in a row, like baby ducklings or something that rhymes with duckling, came by to ask if we were alright and did we need anything. That’s not very weird, except that the guy who looked like a manager, who wasn’t wearing a uniform, who had a tie on that looked like a father’s day present from a kid who just won’t be gay (unless he’s a daughter in which case she already is), after asking if we were alright sat down in a booth with a woman and a kid, like a little one, footy pajamas and all, and Pink, the waitress, handed him a check and asked if there was anything else she could get him.
I’m all for smart assholery, I encourage it whenever I can. He just seemed too sincere and when he passed back by, a befooted squirmy child-filled pj slung over his shoulder like a giggling sack of flour, he didn’t wink, smirk or even give a nod of recognition to show that we were all in on the same joke of the overcompensation of the Grand River Ihop’s breakfast crew. I wonder what he would have done if we had said we weren’t alright or that we needed anything? When you have that lovely little daydream about being MPD do you ever imagine that one of your personalities would be an Ihop manager? And if it were don’t you think you’d avoid going to Ihop (assuming you weren’t confined to a padded room)?
It’d be really cool if my daughter got into U of M med school. Granted, it was MSU that recruited, but U of M is one of if not the best public med schools in the country. MSU is one of the ---Wait, they have a med school? --- public med schools in the country. It’s pretty good if you want to be a vet, no, I’m serious, it’s a land grant college. I might be using public wrong; I mean a State University as opposed to, say, John Hopkins or Harvard.
I’d leave prompts but this is more of a whoa-hey-lookit-that sort of flash. I’m sure to have others coming
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