We All Scream

A co-worker and I decided to head to lunch this afternoon. We ended up at the Great Steak Escape where I enjoyed a Philly Cheese Steak (sans onions thank you) and some of their wonderful fries.

After lunch, we noticed a Dairy Queen on the way back and decided to stop in. In our yout (please note, not a typo--say in Joe Pesci voice) our Dad would only let us order cones. No Dilly Bars, no Buster Bars, no Peanut Buster Parfaits, no Mister Mistee Freezes, basically none of the cool stuff, just cones. Small cones at that. That didn't keep us from asking for some of the more delightful items EVERY time we stopped the DQ, but he would never budge. "Four small cones" was heard time and again.

Why did our Old Man limit us to the cones? My theory is that he felt stupid saying words like "Buster Bar" or "Peanut Buster Parfait" (since he did all the ordering). He was a man who built houses and such men simply didn't utter such goofy words. "Four small cones" was simple and to the point. Easy in, easy out.

Once on the way to our grandparents in Iowa we stopped at an A&W. The ordering system consisted of a phone in each booth where you picked it up and let the person in back know what you wanted. This was when A&W had cutesy names for their burgers like Papa Burger. After asking us what we wanted Dad picked up the phone and began ordering. Much to everyone's chagrin his voice sounded like it was being amplified through Jimi Hendrix's Marshalls at Woodstock.

"Yes, we would like one Papa Burger, one Mama Burger, one Teen Burger..." he went on with this for what seemed like 10 minutes each silly name loudly echoing around the restaurant for all to hear. A stiffer performance you cannot imagine. I'll never forget it.

And as long as I'm relating ordering stories I will tell one of my most personally humiliating tales of ordering pizza with my parents when I was a freshman in high school. Out clothes shopping or whatever, we stopped into a Godfather's for dinner (sans the Elder, this was during his Flock Of Seagulls phase and he was too cool).

Upon entering the establishment, I noticed the cash register was being staffed by one of the hotter Juniors in the entire school. She always wore those tight washed out Guess jeans...anyway we go in and for whatever reason (perhaps remembering the A&W incident?) Dad made me order.

(voice cracking) "Umm, yeah, can we get a large pepperoni and sausage pizza for here"

Suddenly I hear a voice in my ear impatiently demanding "Order sauce! Order sauce!" I wanted to turn around and explain to him that you don't have to order sauce, it is assumed you want sauce when you order a pizza but he was insistent and this time his voice grew louder "Order sauce! Order sauce". I finally broke down and like a total idiot said "With sauce".

The Hot Chick just kind of looked at me and rang it up. To this day I have not set foot in another Godfather's.

We're all getting together Sunday for Father's Day and I think I'm going to tell this story and ask Ol' Pa why he made me order the sauce. The good thing is that as a father now myself I plan on doing this very thing to my own son someday. Perhaps it's a rite of passage I don't fully understand yet?

We'll see.