Apr 232013

shutthedoorFriends: If you were at a restaurant with Chooch and me, and you realized our waitress was someone with whom you went to high school, would you tell us?


(It’s funny when I ask people this in person, their eyes get all big and they say, “Um, NO. God, no.”)

But Henry did just the opposite last Saturday night when we went to Eat n Park after the Pierce the Veil show. Now to be fair, I was hyper because I had just come from a concert and had a few glasses of wine earlier; Chooch was hyper because it was almost 11pm and he was delirious from an evening at his grandma’s cable-free apartment.

“I used to go to high school with her,” Henry said in a hushed tone. “We rode the bus together.” He was referring to our waitress Dawn, who definitely seemed like someone Henry would have “loafed” with (that’s what my dad always says, and I imagine Henry’s generation probably used the same term): super skinny, stringy dishwater blond hair, sunken cheeks, probably a meth addict. She had a really rough voice and called us all “hon,” and stood sideways, looking over her shoulder at us while taking our order. Also, and this is kind of hard to explain, but she had the swagger of a drag king, the way she moved her hips while talking. IT WAS BIZARRE.

So, you know, totally in Henry’s wheelhouse.

I snorted as soon as he told me. I LOVE IT WHEN HENRY BRINGS UP HIS PRE-ERIN LIFE! He gets so pissed when I laugh about his past and he recently yelled, “You act like I didn’t exist before you met me!” But come, did he really exist? Am I not basically his sole purpose for living? He basically won’t tell me anything at all anymore, so it’s surprising that he let this particular little nugget of blackmail slip out.

Then he went up to the salad bar* and I reiterated this to Chooch.

*(“Ew, he went to the salad bar at 11 o’clock at night?!” my co-worker A-ron exclaimed when I was telling him this story last night. Yes, Henry is disgusting and eats old, congealed food from the Eat n Park salad bar after hours. Henry does disgusting things.)

“Chooch, did you hear that? DADDY WENT TO HIGH SCHOOL WITH OUR WAITRESS!!”

“With DAWN!?” Chooch, for whatever reason, had immediately taken to mocking her from the get-go, saying things like, “OK, Dawn” and “Dawn doesn’t know anything!” every time she would walk away from us. He had zero respect for this lady. (Pro Tip: Don’t ever wear a name tag around Chooch.)

“You totally have to tell her!” I encouraged him, and we both started laughing so hard that Chooch literally almost threw up at the table. People were turning around and gawking at us. An entire table of elderly black women in particular gave us very disapproving Church lady scowls.  Henry returned to two children completely turned inside out with giddiness and looked utterly apprehensive.

“What?” he asked. “WHAT DID YOU DO!?”

“Nothing!” I squealed, tears streaming down my face from all of the laughs.

“I’m telling Dawn that you went to school with her!” Chooch blurted out, cracking up all over again.

“I don’t care!” Henry spat defiantly, digging into his nasty Saturday night salad to mask the nervous twitch his moustache had acquired.

But you know he totally cared. He REALLY did not want this conversation to happen. Too bad Chooch was chomping at the bit to unleash this cannon of intel. Dawn came back with our check (I mean, at least this happened toward the end of dinner, right Henry?) and Chooch nearly gave up the ghost in his attempt to scream out, “YOU USED TO RIDE THE KIDDIE BUS WITH HIM!!!” while lunging across the table and pointing furiously at Henry.

Dawn seemed confused. Nay — Dawn seemed perplexed. She laughed nervously and asked, “What?”

Chooch was laughing so hard, the same deep-throated giggles that I too employ, that I had to explain to her what was going on.

She gave Henry a scrutinizing once-over and then said, “I’m so sorry hon, but I don’t remember….”


So then Henry had to explain to her who he was and I’m pretty sure she was just pretending to recognize him at that point to get us out of her section.

“I mean, it was 30 years ago,” Henry rationalized for Dawn’s inability to remember the forgettable doof in the bitchin’ Adidas shirt and tinted glasses, which only made it better for me — THIRTY YEARS, HAHAHA!

“Have a nice night, DAWN,” Chooch seethed in faux-annoyance as we were getting ready to leave (Henry had already left us at the table, that’s how embarrassed we were apparently making him) and I had to SQUAT DOWN to keep from peeing.

“You two are fucking idiots,” Henry sighed tersely, shrugging away from us when we caught up with him at the register while he waited to pay.

And then this happened before we even left the parking lot:

My favorite part is when Chooch calls Dawn an asshole and it sounds like Henry is about to get all TOUGH PAPA on him, but then all he says is “Shut the door” for the third time. He was REALLY all about having the door shut.

(Side note: I rarely post videos of myself because when I get giddy—and I am often giddy—I wind up sounding like Bobcat Goldthwait and ain’t nobody got time for that.)

Shit, Chooch and I rode the Dawn horse all day Sunday (“Remember DAWN!?” we would ask Henry and then collapse in happy laughter); I came to work yesterday and told the story to anyone who would listen to me (some people walked away). Glenn asked me if Henry drinks a lot and I have NO IDEA what kind of question that is.

So, I think it’s safe to say that we will probably never go back to that Eat n Park.

  4 Responses to “SHUT THE DOOR”

  1. OH MY GOD that video. I was in tears. Chooch’s giggle! Your giggle! I can’t even handle it. And Henry doesn’t sound anything like I expected him to. He sounds way younger. I was thinking, like, old guy telling me to get off his grass… it was nothing like that.

    • Chooch and I feed off of each other’s immaturity, I swear! We both practically passed out later from all the laughing. Henry laughed approximately zero times, haha!

  2. That man is a saint, I tell ya.
    Hang in there, Hen!

Say it don't spray it.

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.