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money and chicken

the journal of Michael Werneburg

twenty-seven years and one million words

Today I met with Mari and Kenny downtown. I took them to a place that makes jerk chicken.

The place is located under The Bay at Queen and Yonge. Not exactly a destination in of itself but handy enough when you've got errands to run. The most memorable bit of the meal wasn't the food sadly but the wackiness of one of the other customers.

First he kept insisting on a certain meat pie from the bottom-back of the substantial pile of pies on a tray behind the counter. I'm not sure how he spotted that pie, and I'm doubly not sure why you care which pie you're eating when they all contain "steak and kidney". Ick.

But then he got onto the real gist of his nuttery. The fellow insisted several times that the staff not handle his money and the food at the same time. He would *not* let it go. Eventually he even called the manager and gave that fellow a piece of his mind, telling him how often he had to remind the staff at the place about touching money.

Mari and I found him hilarious at first (Mari seemed to find the whole thing shocking) but then it started to get in the way as we had to stand around waiting to get to the till. Rather than add any further delay and calling him on it on the spot, I mocked him after left, suggesting to the staff that if the fellow was that worried he'd only bring clean money.

P.S. All of the websites I belong to have been inundating me with 40th birthday best wishes. So kind of those automated software systems, it's like getting Valentines Day cards as a kid but machine-generated.