Four buddies off campus for burgers and beer. Three eat quietly while Stan registers incessant complaint:
“Bun’s not toasted.”
“No pickles?”
“Pattie isn’t medium-rare. It’s well done!”
“Greasy fries!!”
“They’re cold!!! And you give me a check? Get the manager!”
“Problem, sir?”
Stan bleats his catalogue of horrors.
“Hmmm. Sir, you ate everything,” she muses, pointing to his empty plate. Lifts Stan’s check. Stan tugs at the check, grabs her arm. His mates watch wide-eyed.
She: “Let go, sir. Get out.”
He does. They do.
Outside: “I’m never going into that dump again.”
“Good idea, Stan. I’ll see you around.”
“Bun’s not toasted.”
“No pickles?”
“Pattie isn’t medium-rare. It’s well done!”
“Greasy fries!!”
“They’re cold!!! And you give me a check? Get the manager!”
“Problem, sir?”
Stan bleats his catalogue of horrors.
“Hmmm. Sir, you ate everything,” she muses, pointing to his empty plate. Lifts Stan’s check. Stan tugs at the check, grabs her arm. His mates watch wide-eyed.
She: “Let go, sir. Get out.”
He does. They do.
Outside: “I’m never going into that dump again.”
“Good idea, Stan. I’ll see you around.”
