Gramma was stamping out her Virginia Slim in the entry way as we put our name down for a table. She wouldn't stop saying how she didn't want to eat food. Uh...we're in a restaurant Vicki. You needs to shuts ups.
Bennigans, Flannigans, Hooligans. Wtf?
"You shut up!" Gramma said to anyone who was listening. (You shut up Gramma)
It was 12.05 pm. I ordered my first beer of the day from the bartender when no one was watching before we even sat down. It wasn't because I wanted it. This had nothing to do with want. This was Stone Cold Need.
The waitress with the goofy smile and fake happy voice named Anna came over to take our beverage order. This the last fake happy voice we were going to get out of her now that she had met the Vickonater. As she was asking for our drink order Gramma demands, "I want a shrimp cocktail!" with the gruffest of voices that only 95 years of smoking can produce. (shut up you old Goat)
"We don't have shrimp cocktail," Anna says.
"What do you mean you don't have shrimp cocktail?" she screams. (please dear God, if there is one, make her shut the fuck up)
"Gramma, she's taking the drink order. Stop. Look at the menu. Chill." I say quietly as I finger the pipe in my pocket lovingly.
Sydie quickley ordered her a fried shrimp off the kiddie menu. Crisis averted for the moment.
Drinks ordered.
"Where's the goddamn cocktail sauce? What did they go to the Shore to get it?" Gramma belts out the moment those nasty fried pieces of canned shrimp are placed in front of her.
"You're being rude!" I say as I once again feel my precious pipe. It gives me comfort like a teddy bear does a child in a dark scary room.
Once Gramma starts to eat I sneak out saying I have to go to the bathroom. I go outside to the light of day were humans are. I take a hit off my beloved one hitter, relish it for a moment, slowly blow it out so I can feel it hit each part of my throat and then I dial the phone.
"Hello," Sarah answers so cheerily that I want to bitch slap her.
"Can you come pick me up?" I plead.
"I'm busy. What's wrong, where are you?" she says. (sure I'll just drive on my rims home again)
"Bennigans."
cough, guffaw, choke, snort
"What the fuck are you doing in Bennigans? Do they still even make Bennigans?"
"Shut up. I'm with a real living dinosaur Have some mercy."
"Okay, well, sorry, buck up Little Camper. I'm on my way to a grown up lunch."
"Fuck you. I don't love you Man. You only eat beans. That's just stupid Bob."
Lucky you. It used to be that way until I moved in to take care of her. Every little things gonna be all right...
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