At 6 am, I dragged my sleepy, semi-comatose self into Perkins for a meeting. The overly enthused waiter quickly throws down three thick menus and peppers me with salty questions:
Do you want coffee hot, luke warm, or accidentally dumped in your lap? How many neanderthal’s are joining you and the cave-woman?
Do you have a license to wear those plaid shorts? Who’s your hair stylist? Do you want to sit or stand while you eat. How many forks am I holding behind my back? Do you prefer ham or spam? Did you see the front of the cook’s apron?
Who is Perkins named after and what was his last name?
I said, “I’m the only one here, so can you set up for 11 more people that aren’t coming and each person will want their own pot of coffee and 3-syrup carrier. Can you charge this to Mr. Perkins. He’s a philanthropist and likes to feed the animals.
There’s more copy in this menu than the Sunday paper. Where’s the funnies? Oh that’s the section where they charge you $5 for 2 pieces of bacon or 1.5 scramble eggs… A La Carte, or A La Cartel?
Three menus for one person? Hamburgers and fries for breakfast? Really? Chicken fried steak and green beans for breakfast? Filet of Tilapia and shaved almonds with wild rice for breakfast? Are we nuts? Who eats from the dinner menu before the chickens are singing the Beatles song “Here comes the sun?”
I asked the waiter, “can I have one menu with a choice of three items?” He said,
“That one comes with color crayons.” I said, “perfect. If there’s anything that’s missing on the menu, I’ll will draw them on my plate and make-believe.”
There’s no charge for art-a-la-carte.
I’ll have the Green Eggs and Ham.