I consolidated the stories about Fred.


...long live, Hill Blocks View. I miss writing. But the thought of one more round of "welcome backs", or obsessing over stats, or thinking of the clever response to a comment, or the obligation to read everyone else's blog... not so much. So I'll try and write. No pressure. If you feel the need to respond, you can email me. I like email. flipaul@yahoo.com

Friday, May 9, 2014

Afternoon Delight.

Sir, may I talk to you?
Absolutely. I always have time for Margie, my best waitress.
Actually, it's Hazel.
Sorry. Hansel.
That's right. And I'm the manager.
Are you sure? I thought her name was some common eye color, like blue or green. Green. That sounds right.
No sir. It's Hazel. Me. I'm Hazel. I'm your manager. Hazel the Manager. That's me.
OK, if you insist… Well, Ms. Chartreuse, I'm glad we had this talk.
I'm not sure I've ever heard that surname. Is it German?
No, you idiot. It's a curse.
I can imagine it is. If I were you I would change my name, to something less of a burden. Poor thing. Going through life with a name like Damnit, no wonder you're so grumpy.
I'm grumpy, because I work for you, and you are undoubtedly the stupidest person in the ENTIRE world.
Olive. I simply can't put up with this kind of insubordination. I'm going to have to fire you.
ARGH! You can't fire me, you moron.
I certainly can. I own this fine establishment.
You can't fire me, because... I'm your daughter.
Are you sure?
I am. Besides, nobody would claim to be related to you if they weren't.
Ah, good point... I think… Uhmm, Jade, what was your point?
I hate you.
Maybe we should try couples counseling.
We are not a couple. Again, I'm your daughter.
Oh right. Well, I'm glad we got this all cleared up. If there is nothing else, I have some important matters to get to.
We haven't resolved anything. And watching Spanish TV with the sound off doesn't qualify as important matters.
Nag, nag, nag. You sound just like your mother.
You've never been married. I'm adopted. Now don't talk. Just listen. It's about the new dessert, it's causing problems.

This is the part where you talk.
You said not to.
Oh for goodness sake, you're such an idiot. Never mind. The dessert. You need to fix it.
What's wrong with the dessert? Coffee ice cream and chocolate cake, covered in mocha syrup. A perfect dessert to pick you up in the middle of the day.
It's delicious, Dad.
That's not what you said a minute ago Gretel. Is the dessert OK or not? 
The dessert is fine. It's the name that's the problem.
The name?
You called it Afternoon Delight.
D'uh. I know what I called it. I was the one that called it that. Dessert after lunch, is an Afternoon Delight.
Great idea. Unfortunately our waitstaff is getting sexually harassed now. Five of them quit today.
Don't look at me. I only fist bump now, no more butt slaps or chest bumps.
No. The customers are harassing the workers.
I don't see how the dessert has anything to do with that.
Afternoon Delight is a euphemism for daytime sex.
Maybe to you space age, internet kids.
It came from from a song written in the 1970's.
Oh. How does it go?
SkYYYyyyy rockets in flight, afternoon delight, AAAaaafternoon delight.
I've heard that song. It's not about sex. It's about the space program.
No. No, it's not. It's definitely about sex.
OK, I'll take your word for it. But I can't change the name of the dessert, we just got 10,000 menus printed.
Then you have to at least change the sign out front. Otherwise we won't have any wait staff left.
I can see the sign from here. It looks fine to me.
You don't see a problem?
No problem at all?
Looks great.
You don't think that a sign that reads ASK YOUR SERVER FOR AFTERNOON DELIGHT, EXPERIENCE A HAPPY ENDING, is going to be misinterpreted?
No. Dessert is the happy ending to any meal. What's wrong with that?