The phone rang late one night. A young lady said she would like to order two egg rolls. “I’m sorry, ma’am,” I said. “This is a French restaurant.” She then ordered two croissants and one French roll. I told her our kitchen had already closed, and she asked to speak to Elton. I informed her that there was no Elton at this location. “Oh no, you must be joking with me. Let me talk with Elton right now,” she insisted. I said, “Sorry, no Elton here.” She then asked for the restaurant’s address, and when I gave it to her she informed me that if I did not stop joking around she was going to come over and cut me up. Next she asked for my name, which I gave her, and the restaurant’s phone number. When I gave her that she said, “Well, that’s not the number I dialed. If you don’t stop joking with me I will really cut you up bad.” I was determined to be as polite as possible, but I’m only human after all. At that point I had just had enough. I said, “Please feel free to come over and cut me up, but that will not help you find Elton–and I guess I need not remind you that drugs are a terrible thing to waste. Good-bye!”

–Virgil Gibson, restaurant manager