Recently, my buddies and I went to one of those places where the food is average, the prices are outrageously high and waitresses are wearing little more than a napkin. I'm not proud of it, but I went.
As if 'I'm not proud of it' wasn't enough to show my age, I had a real 'I'm getting old' moment when the waitress introduced herself as, "Farrah. Not the one with the ass cancer."
(Insert shocked expression here)
What?
Now, look, I know this girl is not old enough to be a Charlie's Angels fan. Also, I am acutely aware of the qualities this girl must have exhibited to be hired for this particular job; and intelligence and the ability to form complete English sentences are both very low on that list.
But come on. You can't have that kind of filterless, brain-to-mouth direct connection when:
A) Your brain is so clearly malfunctioning; and
B) You work in a place where the entirety of your job function is talking to strangers.
Or maybe you can. Maybe I'm just getting old. I guess my fear is that there are not enough normal, intelligent people out there to balance out all the damage the Farrah-not-the-one-with-the-ass-cancers in the world are unwittingly doing on a daily basis.
