Posting Ain't Easy

I reached back in time for this story but you'll like it cuz it's funny.

Me, Eric, Candace and Rich are on our way to the movies. We've got about 45 minutes before the show begins so we head to one of the nearby restaurants for drinks and dessert. We seat ourselves at one of the tables, peruse the menus and wait.

And wait.
And wait.

At least half a dozen servers have passed our table without stopping. So we grab our coats and are prepared to vamoose when one of the servers intercepts us and apologizes for the delay. Apparently some broad decided to light up INSIDE the restaurant and it took ages to convince her to cut that shit out. The server asks if we're willing to stick around -- fine, but realize you're skating on thin ice, here.

We ask for our drinks and I tack on an order for the brownie sundae bowl thing. I'm thinking maybe this won't be such a bad place after all.

Until the drinks arrive. I ended up with some girlified cocktail that could have removed RUST, there was so much alcohol in it. I take a few sips before dismissing the thing and just wait for my dessert to show up. Chocolate and ice cream should go a LONG way towards making up for this rapidly declining experience, right?

Um, no.

Twenty minutes later the server shows up with my plate. She's already told us that she'd take special care making the dessert herself so she sits it on the table and admires her own handiwork: a decadent brownie covered with delicate dollops of whipped cream and intricate trails of sprinkled cinnamon. She's almost kissing her OWN ass, she's so proud. Which is probably why she didn't realize that this dessert was severely muffed up.

Less than 30 seconds after she leaves I realize that something ain't workin. I'm supposed to be diving, face first, into a heaping platter of chocolatey goodness. So why am I smelling...

...salt.

And we're all smelling it, yet refusing to allow ourselves to BELIEVE that we're smelling it. Eric finally decides to take a taste of the stuff for confirmation, then declares, "Uh, this ain't cinnamon. This is Season-All."

F-WORD.

Turns out that Chrissy Snow, here, napalmed my brownie with Old Bay Seasoning and didn't even SMELL it during her trip from the kitchen to the table. Cinnamon and Mrs. Dash aren't even CLOSE to each other in the spice rack alphabet so what the hell is the problem???

(Meanwhile, Candace and Rich are losing their shit.)

I immediately request Phoebe's presence and once she arrives, I explain her faux pas. Her response: "No way. You've GOT to be mistaken..."

TASTE the shit, Rose.

"OMG...you guys?? I am SO SORRY!! I don't know how this happened! THEY must have put the wrong seasoning on this!!"

***Notice how the blame has been reassigned. One minute, she's the one slaving for hours over my perfect dessert. The next, she's pointing the finger at an invisible legion of slightly retarded kitchen sprites. ***

(Meanwhile, Candace and Rich are on the floor.)

Corky offers to make amends but, by now, I have no desire to ingest anything that this restaurant can throw on a plate. I request the check and silently fume until we make our way out of there. NOTHING will go right when I'm involved, will it??

ps -- Eric went ahead and ate the thing anyway.