The worst part about my work schedule is that I never get to eat a single meal with my family during the week. I absolutely hate it. And the worst part about eating healthy is that I never get to eat a fucking French fry. I absolutely FUCKING hate that. So sometimes a weekend diner trip is a must. Except when I decide that I want to go somewhere different and then we drive around aimlessly looking for something that’s not closed on a Sunday. Seriously, restaurants that are closed on Sundays can go suck God’s dick. Which is probably what they want to be doing anyway. Assholes.
But then Urban Spoon directed us to Bob’s Diner in Carnegie. And I know you must be thinking that it was either realllllly good or phenomenally abysmal if I’m devoting a whole blog post to it. But it was neither. Just decent, really. It’s just that I became obsessed with Bob.
Henry kept saying, “I doubt that’s Bob. I REALLY doubt that’s Bob. IT’S NOT BOB OK?!” Why was he so passionate about it not being Bob? WHAT DOES HE KNOW ABOUT BOB?!
OMG HE WAS CLEARLY IN THE SERVICE WITH HIM!!
Meanwhile, our waitress was obsessed with my coat.
“Oh I just love this. It reminds me of a sofa. What do they call that? BROCADE!” she cried while literally STROKING MY ARM UP AND DOWN like it was a golden tapestry-swaddled elephant penis.
She was really into us for about 90 seconds but as soon as I slipped out of my coat, she dropped us like a bunch of jizz-stained brocade sofa cushions.
The rest of the time there was OK. I mostly fixated on the whole Is It Bob? quandary.
“WHERE IS HE?” I would hoarsely hiss to Henry, who would mumble things like “I don’t know. In his office. Dead. THAT’S NOT BOB.”
“Mommy, is that Bob?”
And then this happened:
Waitress 1: “I just found out a good friend of mine died.”
Waitress 2: “Oh no! How?”
Waitress 1: “Herpes.”
Waitress 2: “Showoff.”
Henry was irritated because I ordered cole slaw after he did. He hates it when we both enjoy the same sides.
Bob’s might not have been much to write home about (though I clearly did) but I must say: their fries are the GOOD KIND! I would go back just for the fries. And obviously to unlock the mystery of Bob and Henry and the porno they filmed in 1983.