Last night, I dreamt I went to a casual dining establishment where–for some reason–they were advertising free patriotic socks with every meal. That’s probably a side-effect of all the explosions. A little less than a week left to Independence Day, and my neighbors are celebrating. Loudly. Why no, as a matter of fact, fireworks aren’t legal to sell or use in my community for a few more days. Never mind, the neighbors are conducting their own private Trinity tests, and I’m dreaming about patriotic socks.
The garlic bread? Well, doesn’t everybody dream about garlic bread?
So I was in this casual dining establishment. The kind where you can look over the counter and watch what’s going on in the kitchen… and I ordered a meal, which should have come with garlic bread and patriotic socks.
I didn’t get the garlic bread, and that left me with the feeling that since I wasn’t given patriotic socks, I should probably complain about those, too. Whether I wanted them, or not. (Possibly not a patriotic socks person.)
I had to complain to get my garlic bread, and then, I had to complain two or three times to get my patriotic socks.
As I’m leaving the restaurant, I had to tell them that if I did not get my patriotic socks, I would not be paying the bill.
So, a manager comes to talk to me, and then, I’m standing there watching while she pulls out an overnight case that is completely full of socks folded into neat little balls in white plastic bags. She hands me my bag of socks and apologizes.
I don’t know what made me check. My subconscious is a strange and suspicious place.
I had to call the manager back. These are not patriotic socks.
What do you mean? Of course, they are.
These socks… are yellow and black.
The manager looked at me like I was crazy. She unrolled the socks, and pointed. Yes, they are. They have pictures of cowboys on them.
Can’t argue with that, so I went away with my yellow and black cowboy socks.