The wife and I decided to take the boys to Fire Mountain Grill the other day. It was the day of Terrance's 5K, which he did fantastic in, btw.

The boys were off getting their plates refilled while Tonya and I were eating our meals. Off to my left was a waitress busily placing wrapped silverware on empty tables. She was talking to another waitress. The exchange went something like this.

WAITRESS 1: The exterminator was hear, so I don't think we're gonna have a problem.
WAITRESS 2: Oh, the exterminator was here?
WAITRESS 1: Yeah and I ain't seen any all day. But they're still around, I think.

Okay, what the fuck? Whatever it was the exterminator didn't get can't be fucking good. Especially in a restaurant.

Look it's no secret, I'm not real fond of buffets. Not with all the ones I went to in Arkansas. Watching those inbred, hillbillies ingest large portions of mashed potatoes while smoking their Doral Lights. Ugh.

But I go to them. Most times, the food ain't bad. In fact, more often than not, it's pretty good. And the price is fair too.

That, however, doesn't always apply to Fire Mountain. This place has been a thorn in my side for some time.

As we sat there and continued to eat despitethe "exterminator" fiasco. A woman behind us made some comment about roaches. My wife and I both looked up at each other.

Me: Did I just hear what I think I heard?
Tonya: Yes.
Me: You hear it too?
Tonya: Yes, I did.
Me: Damn it, it wasn't just me.

We're not going back to that place for a long, long time.



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