“This is it?”
“Ain’t that whatcha asked for? A cheese sandwich?
“Yeah, but I mean this?”
“Y’expect some pimentos mixed in? It’s what it is. It’s like a bowl of Cheerios, y’know? You ask for Cheerios and then you wonder why it ain’t waffles.”
“Kinda dry.”
“So put some ketchup on it. Here.” (Slides upside-down bottle of ketchup over.)
“Ketchup on cheese? Nah I don’t think that goes. That don’t work.”
(Pal turns, stares but not long.)
“So what, you’re like Martha Stewart or somebody all of a sudden? What’s next, like ya can’t put salt on french fries? No wait, better yet: you okay puttin’ ketchup on french fries?”
“Alright already. I just said it was a little plain, just a plain cheese sandwich. A little dry. Now it’s about french fries and ketchup which I gotta say sounds a lot better than this.”
“This the first time you been in a restaurant? Ask for a sandwich and you don’t want a sandwich? So order the french fries. Order double fries, double ketchup. It ain’t like ya can’t afford it. Or I tell ya what: Send this back and ask for grilled cheese instead. You know, you’re gonna starve if you don’t quit grumblin’ and bein’ all picky-choosey. They prob’ly close at midnight, you’ll still be lookin’ at the menu wonderin’ what goes good with ketchup.”
“Jeez. Who said I said anything about ketchup in the first place? I don’t even like the stuff, ’cept maybe on fries. Well, definitely on fries.”
“Order the fries, OK? Tell ya what though you better tell her you want ’em to go, know that I’m sayin’?”
(Taps finger on face of his watch.)
“Why don’t we just go to McDonald’s or whatever?”
“That’s fast food, McDonalds, Burger King all them fast food places ain’t good for your health. Calories and all that.”
“Says the fat guy sittin’ here with a double cheeseburger. Calories? That there ain’t exactly a methamphetamine milkshake neither. What’s for dessert, slim? Cheesecake a la mode with a scoop of ice cream on top? Some Reddi Whip?”
“I’ll give ya Reddi Whip.”
“You don’t even know what Reddi Whip is. Before your time. Be surprised you know what a Pontiac is or a toaster oven.”
“Had a Pontiac when you had a stinkin’ Yugo. Had a six with a turbo. Yugo be lucky to have doors.”
“Drove that Yugo when I worked over at J&L. Good mileage and I sold it for more than I paid.”
“Y’musta only worked at J&L about two days, else you lived next door to it. Only way a Yugo lasts more than a month is up on blocks in somebody’s back yard. I wouldn’t trade you that Pontiac for a truckload of Yugos.”
“Be a good trade. Drive a different Yugo every day of the week.”
“Right. You’d have the truck too, to haul away all those broken down Yugos.”
“Let’s get goin’ already.”
“Yeah. Grab the check wouldja?”
“The check? Me? I didn’t even have nothin’ to eat.”
(Pushes aside plate with sandwich.)
“Who’s fault’s that? Put it in your pocket for later. Might get hungry. And I bet that’s a good sandwich. Looks good. Like good home cookin’ y’ask me.”
“Kinda does. My mom was a lousy cook. This’d be dinner. Couple slices of extra bread on the side.”
“Bread was like some kind of side dish with a sandwich? You gotta be kidding.”
“Maybe my mother was kidding. Never thought of that. Mom, the Great Comedian of Evelyn Avenue! Tune in tomorrow night for more laughs! Mac ‘n’ Cheese with mashed potatoes and macaroni salad on the side.”
“That’s what you guys had to eat for dinner?”
“Who said ‘eat’? She just put it on the table. We didn’t have to eat nothing.”
(They slide out of the booth, head for the door.)
“Ya know I will say the Yugos had lousy heaters. Winter in Cleveland? You start the engine, turn on the heater, head to work, and unless your job was in Toledo, Yugo’d still be cold when you got there.”
(Door closes.)
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