The guy at the IHOP

Tiff and I are sitting in front of a nice pile of pancakes (which they have at the IHOP, now) and are about to dig in, when it sounds like a person is talking to me in the booth behind me.

I turn around and discover that not only is no one in the booth behind me, but there is practically no one in the entire establishment, save the wait-staff, my sweetheart, and these two human wastes five tables away from us.

Who are these two, five tables away from us? An older couple (man and woman), in their late forties, sitting over coffee and finished plates of food. The woman is sitting in front of her empty plate, watching her man. Her man, across from her, is on the phone, talking to a friend. As loudly as is possible. It’s as though the man thought the appropriate volume should be proportionate to how far away the recipient of the call is at that moment. And at this moment, his friend is apparently in Georgia. And I know this as fact, because it was mentioned in his forty-five minute long conversation.

The man on the phone works in some kind of emergency field, because he apparently has a lot of time around dead bodies. How do I know this? Because he described his day, in minute detail, which included them.

“Went in the apartment, came across the guy, lying on his face, had to flip him over. He’d been dead for awhile, his skin was all ashy and blotchy, like he’d had a stroke. Must’ve had a stroke and died in his sleep. Yeah. I know!” He found two other dead people of similar complexion later on in the evening.

He continued like this for the entirety of our meal. And the woman across from him gave no stink-eye, no words encouraging him to keep it down, or perhaps pay attention to her. She was enthralled. She watched him talk as though she were in the conversation. Of course, he made no reference to the fact that he was with company, or in an eatery, otherwise the other person on the phone might have accidentally have had some semblance of the appropriate and hung up.

What kind of a stupid, sick fucker checks out multiple dead bodies, some recently deceased, and some not, and thinks to himself, “Shit. I gotta get my woman and go to the IHOP!”

Apparently this guy.

So welcome to the list of stupid fucking people I encounter on any given day, Mr. Rude-Guy-In-the-IHOP. Die in a fire.

~ by Crivelliman on February 24, 2009.

One Response to “The guy at the IHOP”

  1. ,………,.,.

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