Tonight after dinner, I noticed my wife was feeling a bit impatient with the kids. This generally is my signal to Do Something Quick. Unfortunately, I had worked a long day, and (after borrowing a quarter from a stranger because I forgot the fares had gone up to $2.00) caught the 24 bus home, arriving at 7p. Too late for an impromptu park run, as it’s still not staying light much past 6 here. So, I gave the kids five minutes and told them to get their shoes on, we were leaving.
“Where are we going,” Donovan asked? Followed shortly by Logan’s, “Where are we doing?” (Yes… those aren’t typos there, from Logan) Neither got their answers until we were in the car and on the way. The answer was, of course, to my default inclement-weather playground, which is the BK on Bird Road at roughly 72nd Ave in Miami. Good old BK 29. They have a generally clean indoor playground, and the kids like going there even if it’s only for a couple minutes to burn off excess energy.
Tonight, though, we got dessert AND a show.
As we walk in, Logan makes a bee-line for the bathroom. It’s his favorite haunt. Why? I have NO clue, though if you ask my folks (or maybe even my sister who will probably read this), they will tell you that I was ALWAYS going into the bathroom as a kid. So, Donovan and I are parked at the entrance to the line to get food while Logan is availing himself of the facilities. And we wait…
After about five minutes, and three different employees coming up asking if they can help us, I go into the bathroom to discover that Logan hasn’t gone potty. He’s waiting for “umbusy” to come out of the wheelchair-accessible stall because he WANTS to use the Big Potty. Except it doesn’t appear that “umbusy” is coming out anytime soon. With Logan, there is NO arguing. If he wants to use the other toilet, he will stand and wait until it becomes available. So, with this in mind we went out to the store, proud Donovan leading the way because he’s going to get his dessert, defeated Logan in tow because he still has to go potty, and is waiting until his favorite stall becomes available and we’re not going to hang out in the bathroom to let him.
We return to the queue in the restaurant to discover a fight in progress between the employees in the kitchen. Not a physical brawl, mind you… just verbal arguing. It started with a small piece of french fry (frozen, of course) being placed on the shoulder or down the shirt of one of the sandwich makers. She started raising her voice at the guy who put the fry down her shirt. He started yelling at her that he was only playing.
I don’t know which one of them threw the squeeze-bottle mustard container through the sandwich chute. Whoever it was should see if they can walk on with the Florida Marlins. The mustard came from the kitchen, through the sandwich chute (without hitting it), and flew halfway out into the dining room before it bounced all the way to the front of the store. After we got our order, we discovered that the mustard had speckled the floor, tables, chairs, and booths in the area with yellow.
Fry guy got cut loose early via the “Dude – just clock out and get outta my face” method; the target of the mustard (or was she the pitcher) got to stay. The assistant manager came out to me about 30 minutes later and apologized for this.
All this, and it only cost $7.77.
In these tough economic times, I wonder if there’s a market for this kind of “reality” production on Broadway.
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