The short answer is, I panicked, but the longer answer is longer than that, I think. She flummoxed me. She threw me. Her presence was too strange. OK, that last isn’t true. None of it is true. I wanted the special, and the special comes with coffee. She was being nice, I hope. when she asked me if I wanted coffee, and I just wanted to be sure I got charged correctly. If you order them separately, the coffee costs almost thirty cents more, and I don’t want to be the kind of guy who throws away thirty cents every day until he runs out of pennies. You know, that kind of guy.
I like a special, as a thing. I like the idea that, as long as I order what you want to make, it costs me a little less. That’s pretty alright with me. Luckily, I’m the kind of jerk who’ll eat most anything, and I like almost anything that is more or less that kind and quantity I might have otherwise chosen, but thirty cents cheaper. So I like to come in here and order the hash because if I don’t, I end up with veggie sausages and two kinds of potato and a bill for eighteen bucks and the cold reality of still being hungry after dropping eighteen bucks (plus tip, naturally, because it’s not your fault that the prices here range from reasonable to unethical). So I get the special, see, which is the hash with two eggs on top and a cup of coffee, only it’s cheaper than a small hash without coffee, by the aforementioned thirty cents, and it’s got the coffee that I so desperately don’t mind. It’s that thirty cents, y’see. It’s very important to me.
So, when she walked up to me and asked if I wanted a bevy, what was I going to do but go ahead and put in my order with her? You can’t say, sure, coffee, please, and not get charged the extra thirty cents. I’m a man in charge of my own destiny, if you disregard my family and the fact that I’m also in charge of my child’s destiny and, to a lesser extent, my wife’s, and, if you also replace the word “Destiny” with the word “finances.”
The point is, I don’t even like scrambled eggs, as a rule. At home, I can make ‘em right. I can get them fluffy but buttery, in pieces not wisps, the way I like scrambled eggs, but at restaurants, they start by making an omelette and then cut it up and call it a scramble, which it usually isn’t. So, when she asked me if I wanted coffee and I said, yes, I wanted the special, because I don’t have thirty cents to throw around, and she asked me if I wanted eggs, well, I didn’t have a response prepared. The eggs in a hash come sunny-side up. They just do. You can’t put something stupid like scrambled eggs in a hash. That’s communist.
So, that’s the long answer.