Prick

R: This tiramisu is stale. Any chance you have something fresher lying around?

J: This tiramisu is only two hours old, sir. We make ours fresh every day.

R: Two hours, huh? I guess my palate is sensitive to restaurant bullshit.

J: Excuse me, sir?

R: You made it two hours ago and threw it in the fridge. I’m not eating this.

J: I’ll be happy to take it back and replace it with a new dessert, on the house.

R: Yeah, you’d like that. Some four hour-old chocolate cake, yesterday’s cannoli. You’ll stop at nothing to humiliate your customers’ good tastes. I’m outta here.

J: Sir, your check!

R: You can handle it. [huffs away]

J: No, I can’t afford $400 for a single meal when I work for tips five times a week! Pompous bastard.

Author: Aidan Badinger

Wharved.com I am a poet. I write poems. Titles and subjects and subsequent readership are all part of one fragmented figment of our universe, and it's nice that we take it so seriously. Hopefully the craft remains and grows stronger for our children.

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