Keep reading and I will explain this photo.
A couple days ago I got a phone call from an old army buddy. I believe that I've talked about him, but really all you should know is that he drives a tractor trailer truck. He travels all over the US, and we arrange to meet to see each other whenever we are going to be within 100 miles of each other. When he called he said he was going to be in Greensboro, NC to deliver a load and would be there about midday, I agreed to meet him. Raleigh and Greensboro are about 90 minutes apart which is about as far as I would drive to have lunch with him. Now Army Buddy has a remarkable memory for details--truly remarkable. He had delivered to the Greensboro area before and remembered a diner that was on HWY 29 just north of Greensboro. This particular diner had truck parking and seemed to be a good place to meet. This diner was not a place that I would normally frequent as it looked "rough" from the outside and was about the same inside. The front of the place was lined in neon and the neon was making a crackling sound like you hear in horror movies. I kid you not. Because this diner was quite small, when Army buddy and I walked in together everybody looked up at us. From the squinting of their Caterpillar ballcap covered eyes, I immediately got the feeling that the boys didn't like College Boy (me) accompanying Army Buddy into their Bubba Bistro. It sure didn't help when I smiled and showed them I had all of my teeth, but I can handle my myself. After the awkwardness subsided, a waitress told us in Greensboronese to have a seat anywhere we wanted. I wanted to avoid the whole matter and go sit in the next county but Army Buddy got a booth and the boys went back to chewing on toothpicks and sucking food through their tooth. Like old friends will do, Army Buddy started telling me about something that happened to him on the way to Bubba Bistro when the other waitress walked up and asked if we were ready to order. I looked up at the waitress and swore the girl was a vampire. Her skin was washed out and pale as Martha Stewart's face at the moment the judge sentenced her to jail. This girl's lips were gray. I surmised she was either a vampire or anemic. It was daylight outside, so I halfheartedly decided she was anemic. So, Anemic Waitress asked again if we were ready to order. By now I was almost in sensory overload to the point I was having trouble making words, but I had enough resolve to ask her to bring me some water--tap water that is not holy water. Army Buddy did the same and Anemic Waitress scurried off to the room behind the cash register. Then Army Buddy and I decided what we wanted from the menu which was laminated and covered in Magic Marker scribblings updating the prices on the stuff. We chit chatted a couple minutes and Anemic Waitress returned and again asked us to order. I ordered a grilled chicken sandwich and Army Buddy ordered a barbecue plate. When she left we went back to chit chatting. About ten minutes later Anemic Waitress brought over the food and placed it in front of us. Army Buddy then asked her where the bread was for his barbecue plate because in Kansas they always get bread with the barbecue plate. Well Anemic Waitress wasted no time assuming the "I don't get paid enough for this crap and you've got to be kidding me" pose that nineteen year old females so commonly exhibit. Army Buddy kept insisting and I gave him the "I'd fight Al-Qaeda beside you but I don't fight vampires and you're on your own" look. I got up and went to the men's room. That is when I saw the sign you just saw above. I've been in men's rooms before, lots of them, and I have never needed a sign to inform me not to urinate on the floor. I figure that is one of those things that goes without saying. However, the other clientele must have needed some coaching and for the most part they adhered to the management's wishes. But having read the sign a little late, I was careful not to soil my College Boy shoes from the existing inventory on the floor, and decided I needed to rejoin Army Buddy before Anemic Waitress came and took out her bread frustrations on the College Boy that didn't read the sign not to pee on the floor. I was guilty by association. I stealthy walked back to the table and Army Buddy had his bread sitting in front of him and was happy. The neighboring boys didn't pay me much attention because they were too busy snickering about the College Boy returning with pee on his fancy shoes. Amazingly, the rest of the time we were there everything else was uneventful. Army Buddy and I caught up on stuff, and we left and I drove back to Raleigh. The last part almost made up for the first part.
Deb bought me a couple pairs of shorts (short pants) from a mail order company. They arrived a few days ago, and I decided to wear a pair of them to see Army Buddy. I pulled off all the labels and got dressed. I was putting my wallet into the right rear pocket when I noticed that only the left pocket was real. The right pocket had a flap and Velcro but was only two inches deep. Now what moron designed a pair of shorts with a two inch deep pocket? I'll bet he was a college boy and didn't go into diners, because if he did he'd get beat up by the boys for making pants that their tin of Skoal snuff didn't fit in. I felt cheated. Where is my other pocket? Maybe I'll get me a short wallet and cut all of my credit cards and stuff in half, and then I would have something to put in my two inch deep pocket. The pocket had a flap and Velcro on it in case you missed it the first time I said it. Is this some kind of a fashion joke or something? Maybe that was what the boys in the restaurant were looking at, College Boy with the short pocket is going to get pee all over his shoes. It ain't funny, and I ain't laughing.
Geez Yall,
Al
MontyAndRiley@gmail.com
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