"Not all dem waitresses are cute and cuddly.
Some of dem are downright weird."

The average American male believes that waitresses are some adorable and cuddly young creatures working their way through college. There is all that and more. Take yourself on a tour of all manner of restaurants in your city, town or region and check out "the help." Eventually you will find yourself dispelling the myth of the cute waitress and being put in your place by the career waitress and her ideological offspring.

Let us now make a visit to Ed's Good Time Diner and enjoy interesting and fulfilling rapport with the staff. Your name will be Frank and my name with be Hank. It will be more fun that way. Trust me. Come with us... come on... you know you want to...

"Speshul today is eggs with home fries and a gherkin."

Is it the fact that we have barely finished sitting down or the raspy sound of her voice that is disturbing you the most? Don't look directly at the mole on the side of her forehead. Instead, read her name badge carefully. Her name is Evelyn and she started working here as a sixteen year old girl in 1968. She went through a lot, from the time hippies hung around outside the diner and chanted things at her to the days when an animal rights organization picketed the place because of the amount of sausage and other red meats that the diner fried up right. She never much cared about anything other than keeping her job and making it through each shift. Hell, she worked here for the brief time when the place was owned by a Nazi war criminal who was using the diner as cover for his more important business. Those meetings in the back made Evelyn a bit nervous and she almost quit her job the time they brought a jar with a human head into the place so they could laugh at it. You aren't going to startle Evelyn with any form of rudeness or anger. She has seen it all.

"A gherkin?"

Wait a minute, did something just crawl down her arm and drop on the floor without Evelyn noticing? Maybe you shouldn't notice either. Wait to order. The menus are sitting in front of you and Evelyn is waiting anxiously, scratching the inside of her ear with a badly chewed pencil. You look over the menu quickly. You need to order.

"Cup a caffe?"

At this point you breath a sigh of relief, knowing she only wants to know about the beverage portion of your order to get you started. Very professional and very tactful of her. Now you can relax for a moment, look over the menu and figure out how you are going to convince this woman to begin dating you. More than just dating. You want to begin seeing her in a serious and mutually exclusive relationship with its foundations in trust and love. Perhaps she is beyond her childbearing years, but that isn't all that much of a concern. You are fairly sure you don't want to bring a child into this world.

The coffee arrives. It is piping hot. You and I look at each other and nod. You put whatever you like in your coffee. I like mine black. Remember, my name is Hank and your name is Frank. Why do you keep forgetting about that?

"Ya wanna git some breakfast or did ya want some steaks?"

Frank, who is you, looks at his watch and determines that it is just after nine o'clock in the morning. This is probably not a good time for steak, and something about the copious amounts of hair on Evelyn's arm blowing like an African savannah kind of leaves you concerned about meat. She absently pulls a not all together clean rubber glove out of her apron pocket and massages it while she waits for you to make a decision.

"I'm thinking about some eggs, over-easy with white toast and home fries."


Remember, Frank, just agree with her. Look, she has a tattoo of a cockroach on her left ankle. Oh, how it turns, when she swivels on that big, thick, meaty and mostly unshaven ankle. Don't miss out on a chance to enjoy that sight. Your breakfast will taste that much better. I nod at her when she asks about the gherkin. You should do the same. It is in our best interests. Honestly.

Good, you have placed your order (remember it in your head because I am not going to list it here for future reference). You went with the gherkin, which only costs an additional thirty-five cents. You can put it in your pocket for later, but make sure you don't let Evelyn see you doing anything with it except eating it. She'll be around with the food shortly, as soon as Shorty is done cooking it. In the meantime, we'll be able to check out Evelyn's dumper while she yells out the specifics of our order to Shorty. He is a short order cook, you know, but that isn't why they call him shorty. He was in the Navy and had one of his legs blown off in Korea. The prosthetic leg they gave him was three inches shorter than his other leg which gave him a bit of a limp. Shorty blames all his unhappiness on veteran's hospitals.

We can talk about "guy things" while we wait for Evelyn (remember, for the purposes of this story you are a guy named Frank). I guess there was a game on last night, did you catch it? Wait a moment, let us put that off for a minute, Shirley the new waitress is here. She talks to napkins and forks, but at least she never speaks to the knives (no one is too sure about the spoons). If you ask her about her day, she will tell you all about her husband leaving her and the kids and moving in with a guy named Sheldon. She'll also tell you about how she thinks about killing herself on a daily basis except for the fact that one of her kids is in the ninth grade and she gets to bed his friends from time to time.

The breakfast finally arrives and you take the initiative. You ask Evelyn what time she gets off work. Wow, you moved in fast and took the bird right out of my hand. You could be clutching those thick, unshaven ankles very soon, my friend. Kudos to you for the quick thinking! There we are, our food spread out in front of us, and you are making winky eyes at Evelyn. She seems disinterested, but that is her way. I don't think she's been hit on by anyone besides Shorty since Jimmy Carter was president.

Our luck is crazy, my friend. Evelyn asked Shirley to join us and we took a walk down the street to the ball field to watch some American Legion teams play nine innings of action packed baseball. We got hot dogs from a vendor in the street and some cold sodas that Shirley poured Scotch into to take the edge off. Some kid comes up into the stands and asks Shirley if she could do "that thing with your mouth again" but we run the kid off. This is our turf now.

Evelyn begins to open up after checking the time. She wants to go home and watch her "stories." She is an avid soap opera fan, and as such, so must we become. We increase our appeal by sharing interests. Plus, once we are in her home, we might get to see her clothes closet and the hamper where she keeps her frilly things.

The first thing we notice is that there is a stuffed bat over the mantle. Evelyn tells us that this was an occupant of her attic for many years and that she considers "a bat in the belfrey" to be the funniest joke of all times. She won't let you touch it, but she stares at it while opening a bottle of vermouth and pouring it into four highball glasses.

"You either drink vermouth straight or you don't drink it at all."

Frank, which would be you, stares into space for a moment and this causes Evelyn to pick up a feather duster and hold it like a weapon. To avoid unpleasantness in the hopes we might still score, we drink the vermouth and hide our reactions to its taste. This isn't even good vermouth and we fear it may be tainted with Clorox.

Evelyn kicks off her orthopedic shoes and starts rolling down her thick knee high nylon stockings. Her skin is so much more pale under the nylons and the hair on her legs is that much more pronounced. You feel a fever building inside and reach for another serving of vermouth. In the meantime, Shirley is showing me how her belly button piercing got severely infected and caused a mysterious and large lump to form under the skin around her abdomen.


You say "yes" and soon after you are massaging Evelyn's calloused and delightfully manly feet. In the meantime I follow Shirley up the stairs while she warns me that it has been a long time since she slept with a "grownup."

Did you forget you were married? I certainly did, but when there is a chance to score with a couple of waitresses, then you throw caution to the wind. I got in a bit of trouble that night. I forgot that I exchanged undergarments with Shirley and wore her bra and panties home. The wife was startled when I began to undress for bed and I had to think of an excuse quickly.

"They had a magician at work today.
I forgot he did that old switcheroo trick.
Well, I'm pretty beat, got to hit the hay.
Big day ahead of me tomorrow."

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