Dinner out With The Cranky’s

Dinner out With The Cranky’s

Dinner last night at Outback Steak House I was listening in to the conversation at the next table.  Mrs. C and I often listen into other conversations.  We’ve been together long enough that we have nothing of our own to talk about…we’ve run out of material.

Anyway.

I was listening in to the dude at the next table order his dinner.

“There is a guy just asking to complain about his food.”

“Why.”

“He just ordered his burger ‘medium well.’  What the Hell is ‘medium well’?”

“It’s a legitimate order.”

“Maybe for a thick steak…maybe.  He is ordering a burger.  Medium would be a tinge of color in the middle and plenty of juice.  Well would be no color and just enough juice to not be dry.  What the Hell is medium well in a burger?  How do you cook ‘medium well?’  I guess you cook it about 20 seconds longer than medium?”  It is a ridiculous order for a burger.  I’m telling you he is just setting the chef up for failure.  A burger is rare, medium rare, medium or well.  Medium well is a bogus order for a burger.”

“Well here comes our check, you want to hang around long enough to see if he complains.”

“Don’t have to, he will complain.”

“How are you so sure?”

“I used to shoot pool with a friend years ago, at the VFW that used to be a pool hall.  Across the street is the diner, after pool we would go have a night time snack at the diner.”

“Yeah so…”

“So, every time we went to the diner this guy would order ‘soft scrambled’ eggs.   What the Frig are ‘soft scrambled’ eggs?  When you scramble the egg, it is either uncooked and runny, or it is cooked and not runny.  What is ‘soft scrambled?’”

“Just barely cooked?”

“That’s just it.  This was a diner.  The chef probably earns a bit over minimum wage, this is not Bobby Flay behind the grill.  I can just picture him when he gets the order for ‘soft scrambled’.  ‘Soft scrambled?  I’ll show you soft scrambled!’”

“How did the eggs come?”

“Never to his liking.  It was always, ‘look at this, it’s runny, you call these soft scrambled?’ or ‘these are solid, I asked for soft scrambled!’”

“So, he sent them back?”

“Hell no, he just wanted to complain, no one knows what the Hell ‘soft scrambled’ means.  Just like no one knows what you expect when you order a burger medium well.  Trust me this guy will complain.”

“Your probably right.  Let’s go or we’ll be late to watch ’90-day Fiancé.’”  

Are we the only ones that listen in to the next table at a restaurant?

Be Nissan You Later

Be Nissan You Later

WOW!  We won a 55-inch Smart TV.  No really.  The local Nissan dealer sent us a scratch-off to celebrate their latest sale.  They had potential prizes of wireless ear buds, a 55-inch Smart TV, $1500 or $15000.

Mrs. C scratched and it showed we won the TV!

She called the required number; they checked the ID number on the scratch-off and confirmed we were a winner.  We made an appointment to pick up our prize on Friday at 1 PM.

“There must be a catch.”

“Nope, I called and they verified the number.”

“Let me see that scratch off thing, there has to be some fine print saying we had to also buy a car, or stay at the dealers for the whole week-end, or…”

“Nope, there is no fine print anywhere, we won a 55-inch smart TV.”

So, on Friday we went to the dealer.  I was still somewhat skeptical, but the scratcher did indicate we won, and it was not like we just won ear buds, it was the TV.

We even started to argue where we would put the TV.

“55 inches is big, will it fit in the basement?”

“The basement TV is 40, but the new TV’s are narrower around the actual screen, I think it will fit even if it covers up some of the cabinet.”

“We should probably put it in the guest room and replace the 28 inch TV.”

“Why, it is too big for that room.”

“But Casey wants a smart TV for when she visits.”

“That is hardly ever, why have the best TV where it will hardly ever get used?”

“We’ll argue about it when we see how large it is.”

“Fine.”

When we walked into the dealership we asked where do we go to see Mr. Green.  “Mr. Green”, that should have been a warning sign right there.  We were directed to a waiting area with about 17 other people waiting for “Mr. Green.”

“You all won a TV too?”

“Yup” “Yup” "Yup” "Yup"…

I was starting to smell fish.

Some guy came out of “Mr. Green’s” office with a small package of wireless ear buds.

“You guys here for the TV?

“Yup” “Yup” "Yup” "Yup"…

 "Hahahahaha.”

Sniff sniff; Rotten fish.

Then Mrs. C opened up the scratch-off.  It was sealed in a way that was almost indiscernible.  Inside was the small print I could not find earlier.

The scratch-off allowed the holder to enter the contest drawing.  The odds of winning were:

Ear buds 99,997 / 100,000

Smart TV 1 / 100,000

$1500 1 / 100,000

$15,000 1 / 100,000

The cards were sent to everyone in an 80-mile radius of the dealer.

“This is bull shit, let’s go.”

“Wait, you are so impatient.”

“Yes, I am, and we don’t need ear buds.”

“We might win the TV.”

“I’m waiting in the car, at least I can listen to the radio.”

About 30 minutes later Mrs. C came out with a box of ear buds.

“I had to tell the guy, not Mr.  Green by the way, that we couldn’t afford a new car until next year.  He offered an interest free loan for a year, I told him I’d need to wait till you got out of Jail first.  He said good luck and gave me the ear buds.”

“That’s an hour of my life I’ll never get back.”

“This time we’re both jerks…but I will use the ear buds.”

I never liked Nissan anyway.

THINGS THAT GO BUMP IN THE NIGHT

THINGS THAT GO BUMP IN THE NIGHT

Our townhouse is not large, but it is a good size for Mrs. Cranky, myself and an occasional visitor.  It is an end unit and we have a plenty of privacy outside.  Inside, however, it is sometimes a bit creepy.  We border on two other units, and sometimes when our neighbors come home, or just slam a door it sounds like they are inside our unit.  That combined with the fact that Mrs. C came home a few years ago, and saw a window had been jimmied open by intruders sometimes keeps us on edge.  She never saw the intruders, she rang the bell, called the police, and heard the burglars leave out the back door in a hurry. 

Nothing was stolen except for our sense of security.

We now have active burglar alarms, and there are only two ways to enter the home, the front door and a sliding glass patio door.  We always keep the front door locked and the patio door is locked plus a wood brace makes it impossible to enter from the outside.  Still, the occasional downstairs noises can creep you out even when you are positive the doors are all secure.

One night it sure sounded like our front door was opened, and there were footsteps in the downstairs hallway.  Mrs. C was concerned.

“Did you lock the front door?”

“It’s fine; it’s just noise from next door.”

“OK, but it is sure creepy.”

“I agree, but it is nothing…go to sleep.”

Just then there was a tremendous crash from downstairs.  It wasn’t next door.  It wasn’t a creepy floor squeak or house shifting noise, it was a crash, then a second crash, then silence.

“What the hell was that?”

I grabbed an old police Billy club a friend gave me years ago and got out of bed.

“CALL 911, I’M GOING TO CHECK IT OUT.”

“I’M DIALING RIGHT NOW!!”

“WHO EVER IS DOWN THERE, GET THE FUCK OUT NOW.  I’VE GOT A PISTOL.  I’M COMING DOWN IN TWO MINUTES. GET THE FUCK OUT NOW!”

“What are you going to do?”

“Shhh, do you hear anything?”

“No.”

“I’m going downstairs.”

“Be careful.”

I crept down the stairs, club in hand, heart pounding.  I heard nothing, there was no movement, no shadows, and nothing was moved.  I turned down the hallway, TV police style.  I slashed blindly with my club as I turned into the hallway; nothing.  I checked the bathroom; nothing.  Every room was clear.  Then there was the pantry.  It is large enough for a person to hide in.  I slid silently up to the pantry door, and ripped it open with my club raised. 

Cans fell out at me, cereal boxes were all over, the pantry was a mess.

Two weeks before I had installed new shelves in the pantry.  Mrs. C told me the molly bolts I used were not big enough.  I had told her she was crazy.  For two weeks I was right.  Tonight I was wrong, very, very wrong.  The bolts had pulled out under the weight of one too many soup cans and had crashed heavily onto the shelf below which then succumbed to the extra weight of the fallen shelf and pulled loose on its own…hence the second crash.

The shelf failure was my fault.  The mess was my fault.  The ungodly scare was my fault.  I felt like an idiot skulking around my downstairs calling out to a non- existent burglar and swinging wildly with my club.

Mrs. Cranky thought I was very brave.

Then referring to the molly bolts she said, “I told you so!”

re-run from November 2013