I dropped Banana-man off at the Walmart front door. “You’ll find me in McDonald’s,” He told me as he shuffled out of the car.
I parked, always beside a cart return, never at the front (he needs the walk).
I arrive in McDonald’s just as his breakfast #2 is being delivered to his table by a lovely young Spanish woman. In case you’re wondering, yes, he is a Hobbit, and won’t stop at asking for Breakfast #3 if he thought he could get away with it.
“You ordered a pancake?!” I was baffled, it wasn’t his usual sausage, and I was a little horrified at the liquid sugar syrup package the size of a tub of margarine – waiting to be consumed by the diabetic.
“No,” he said sadly, “that’s not what I asked for.”
I took pity; “I’ll change it,” and I scooped it from under him before he could say anything more.
The Spanish Lady very kindly accepted the pancake back, and swapped it for a sausage patty.
I slid the still steaming patty to him and sat down.
He looked sad.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“Nothing, this is fine; but I’d actually ordered a hash brown…”