Often, when restaurants are empty, diners get special treatment from the waitstaff, whether out of boredom, desperation for tips, or some other reason. When Big-L and my hungover asses pulled Billy’s Dad out of his post-work funk and into No Fish Go Fish, we got a waitress to ourselves. Nay, we got the restaurant to ourselves.
Billy’s Dad had had a rough day at work. Big-L and I were really hungover, and it was that odd dining hour between 5 and 6. we were hungry, punchy, and honestly, i was a few degrees south of lucidity. The waitress sauntered over while big-L and I groaned about out livers, having dispatched with a scraggily looking hippy. As she warily watched the hippie outside the restaurant, she says ‘I hope they don’t come in here.’