So I had breakfast at Denny's late last night, early this morning, and my waitress was straight from some commune. Like she’s been living in a sort of cult. She was around fifty, plain, no make-up, kind of Pentecostal, with long hair pulled tight into a coiling bun.
She approached the table and said, “Blessed day...might I serve thou some juice?”
I was just struck dumb for a moment and then I summoned up my most reverent voice and answered, “Why yes...yes you most certainly may.”
When she returned she carefully placed my juice down, pulled a pencil from behind her ear, licked the tip, pounced it once on her ticket book and said, “Has thou decided?”
Each time she left my presence she backed away from the table like a butler. My whole meal felt like fine dining. I left her a nice tip. When I took my leave she said, “Thank thee.”
I said right back to her,”No honey, thank thee.”
