Random rambles and remarkably true tales of disaster.
Yuck-ay.The other day I went out to lunch with several coworkers. We were going to hit up Krystal, for whatever reason--the weekend meterologist decided that Krystal sounded so good that we just had to go there. (Not that I have anything against sliders, mind you. It's just when I go out to lunch from work, I usually like something a little more...interesting?)Anyway, when we arrived, the same guy suddenly had a complete change of tune. "Okay, no, we can't eat here," he said, pointing at the health inspection sign. Krystal's had gotten a B."Seriously, after seeing those shows about the things people do in restaurants, I can't eat here," he said.So we all piled back into the promotions girl's little car and went to Wendy's :)
Ah, Templeton the Rat. Glad Paul Lynde got a gig.I grew up on Templeton Drive in the 70s and 80s. Whenever I had to give my address to anyone, I'd tell them I lived "on Templeton Drive, like the rat." Sometimes people got it, sometimes they didn't. I was always impressed when the did.
Rats, not again!Did you hear about the NYC KFC that had rats frolicking in the restaurant after hours? I think someone took a vid an put it up on YouTube. I don't live there, but if I did, that's one fast food chain I'd be avoiding...
Wow, this is as bad as when I found out Santa Claus was made-up. For two years now, Johnny Rockets has been my beacon of kitsch in a sea of haute couture; where I go at lunch time to nurse my sorrows on french fries and milkshakes.Ick ick ick.By the way, thanks for the recent comment. I took the post down because the work email spies were making me nervous.
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