Excuse Me

Sometime in the 1990s Marc and I were at Denny's after 11:00 p.m.  The malls closed at 9:00 p.m. so the under-21 crowd was looking for a place to hang out.  I forget what we were talking about, but we were interrupted.  A rude girl was talking about how much she liked sex.  Not just that she liked sex.  But as I recall, she liked it a lot.  She didn't go through the day without thinking of sex.  It was something that bugged her.  Listening to her and looking at her, we vowed never to have sex again.  It would remind us of the girl in Dennys.

She went on.  And on.  It was a loud restaurant and she had to be louder than the five tables around us.  We couldn't hear any of her companions but she was having a conversation, because she kept interrupting herself to laugh and yell, "I know!"  which was even more annoying that her annoying sex tricks.

Think of somebody imitating Gilbert Gottfried reading Cosmopolitan magazine cover to cover out loud in an stuck elevator, and you have a unit of sexual disgust. Call it a slut.  This girl was broadcasting at 100 megasluts.

Finally after about ten minutes, I know it was ten minutes because it was half the time it took the waiter to come back with our water, I had had enough.

"Excuse me," I said in my best Sean Connery burr.  "I couldn't help overhear you like sex."

She gawked. Our eyes locked across the room.  Her friends turned to stare at me.

"Would you like," I continued, "to shut the fuck up?"

Twenty years later I can still make Marc spew water out his nose reminding him of this.