I'm Not a Sender-Backer

Yo,

Today I had my lovely weekly breakfast at Place Milton. It was a small crowd today. Quaint. Also, they changed up the interior. Its all flippedo-changedo.

Anyway, to tell you all the truth, I have been having minor mess ups in my orders as of late. I don't like to mention them because the weekly tradition is so dear to my heart, I'll allow a couple fuck-ups and price hikes without complaint.

Today was the worst experience yet. I ordered my regular, which she (I have no clue what her name is) knows by heart. It's two eggs over-easy with a side of sausage for all you fans out there dying to know my breakfast habits. It came promptly as usual, but there was a slight problem: The eggs didn't look to cooked on one side.

And now a quick aside on how I like my eggs. I like them over-easy. My definition of over-easy is as such: you crack one egg onto a hot surface, preferably a pan or industrial stove top griddle thingy. You let the egg cook a little, enough so that its a healthy golden color. Then you CAREFULLY flip it, so as not to break the delicate delicious yoke. You wait again for the remaining side to golden-ify. Then you serve hot. The key is that the yoke should remain runny as hell while the white is cooked to a dry chewy consistency.

OK, now that we are clear on my egg tastes we can proceed with the story at hand. One side of the eggs (frankly, I didn't even bother checking the other side) was not very cooked at all. It was still moist and glistening. I HATE moist whites. They make me nauseous. In the past, when my order was screwed up, I would politely tell her and ask for it cooked right. Unfortunately, every time I did so the cooks would hastily throw together runny whited eggs!

I considered my options:

a) I could stick with what I have, knowing that if I ask to have them done again I will only end up with even less cooked whites.

b) I could ask for them redone, but just scramble 'em because you can't really do that wrong.

Option A was clearly the more comfortable option. I wouldn't have to make a fuss, and every one would turn out relatively OK in the end. But, one person in particular at the table with me, lets call her L. Ross, no wait, Lindsey R., was a sender-backer.

I am not a sender-backer. I stick with what I get no matter what. One time at Friendly's they brought me the completely wrong order, and not only did I not say a thing, I got excited about it. Aah, Friendly's.

Anyway, the table consisted of three keepers (not the menstrual blood collector, the food taker), me included, and one sender-backer. Somehow, this beautiful sexy mama of a sender-backer persuaded me to send it back (refer to option B).

I politely beckoned over the server. Until this very day, she had been sunshine incarnate. All smiles, all laughs, all the time. She joked with us, snuck us extra free breakfast stamps, the works. I thought, this shouldn't be so bad.

I said, "Excuse me, I think these eggs are sunny side up"
She said, "No, they're over easy."
I said, "Well, they're not very well cooked on one side."
She said, "Would you like me to take it back and have it cooked more?"
Knowing this would only lead to the seemingly impossible runnier eggs, I replied, "No, could I just have them scrambled instead?"

Then, everything fell apart. The sky darkened. There was the distant rumbling of thunder. She gave me a look that said very clearly: Are you fucking serious, you whiny bourgeois asshole? I was stunned by her piercing implied comment. I shrugged helplessly and she turned and left.

The scrambled eggs were brought with minimal haste and I started my meal well after my comrades. I was devastated. I ate sadly. My keeper friends made the obvious I-told-you-so comments, and my sender-backer friend apologized. Not only that, but she came and cleared up everyone else's plates before I was done! I was left eating on my own so all could see just how much of an ass I was, eating my scrambled eggs.

I take a vow here and now, folks. I am NOT a sender-backer. I will eat whatever is given to me, be it frozen piss on a stick, or a delicious sandwich with a side of everyone on the wait staff's feces. I will eat happily, and you will not here a peep out of me.

Place Milton will never be the same...