I was visiting my mother recently, in Charleston, SC.  She asked where we should go to lunch and I suggested the venerable Greek restaurant nearby.

“No way,” she said, “the last time I ate there they served me iced tea that had soured.”


“And, your father’s chicken was dry.”




“Dad’s been dead for 36 years.”

Lesson for restaurants?  Don’t piss off Mom.


After my freshman year of college in the 70’s I took a job managing a Panasonic store at the Eastview Mall outside of Rochester, NY.  Brrrrr.  My roommate, Jerry, managed a shoe store at the mall.  At lunchtime a bunch of us would meet at the Steak and Cleaver for a burger and a beer.  (Drinking age was 18).

Anyway, there were two waitresses there named Nancy.  One, a blonde with a bit of a complexion issue, was soooo nice, so sweet.  “Hi Guys”, she’d coo, “what can I get you today?”  The other Nancy was old, maybe 26 or so, and had no time for niceties.  “Are you guys going to order or just sit there acting like asses?”

Next thing I know, Jerry was dating Nice Nancy and then inviting her to move into our house.  Then, as fate would have it, Nasty Nancy’s boyfriend gets busted for selling drugs and Nancy needs a place to stay, so she takes our spare bedroom.  Now we have Nice Nancy and Nasty Nancy living with us.  Guess what?  Turns out Nice Nancy was nasty.  And Nasty Nancy was nice.