Wednesday, June 02, 2004

Thanks, but I've been tossed out of better places

Who knew it was against restaurant policy to rock back and forth, holding a knife, imitating someone at a nearby table who was laughing maniacally? Gene knew. That's who. We only learned when he told us we weren't welcome to return.

If you ask me, Norman "lithium laughter" Bates sitting across from us shoulda been thrown out. Throughout his meal he barked like a demented hyena. But it was a fake laugh, much like that of Tom Cruise. Only completely insane, like Tom Cruise right before he loses it and divorces Penelope Cruz' head from her neck, via chainsaw.

Like nails on a chalkboard (not the sound, the actual sight of them imbedded onto the board, sans fingers), it was a moment that would cause normal folks to avert their eyes. Not us. We felt it needed props. It called out for scary background music. It begged for a raison d'etre.

I was only trying to help.

Hence, the knife. My dinner companion choked on her Frank Sinatra (all the food here is named after stars -- in reality, the dish was fettucine). Could I help it if the sad Mr. Giggles kept forcing me to help him?

Gene's is my favorite place to eat, with or without Pseudo Bela Lugosi's vocal stylings. Sure he'll let me back in again. Maybe, like the Don Knotts (boneless, skinless chicken breast) Dr. Demento and his kicky, whacked-out giggle will earn a dish named just for them. One with a picture of a knife-wielding psycho next to it.
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