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|I'm Just The Bell Ringer Here (standard:humor, 1620 words)|
|Author: Reid Laurence||Added: Oct 05 2006||Views/Reads: 2104/1123||Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)|
|The story of a man and his father who go out for breakfast one day and experience what we might call, an insightful view into their relationship - especially after many years of not knowing each other.|
“Hi dad, I was just call'in ta find out if you'd maybe like ta go out for breakfast or someth'in like that? Could be nice, you know. We could go ta Lennie's maybe, get two Big Scams with the works... bacon; sausage; hash browns, whaddaya say? I haven't seen ya in a while, you know. How long's it been anyway?” “Oh... about twenty years I'd say, give or take. But in answer ta your question, I guess I could do breakfast. Pick me up, I'll wait in front, an don't keep me wait'in all day.” Later that morning, father and son sat down at one of the comfortable booths the restaurant had to offer and began scanning over the large breakfast menu. They soon decided to treat themselves to the Super Big Scams for $6.99 that came complete with pancakes, but when the waiter arrived to take their order, he could tell something was amiss, and the sneaking suspicion that the pair were more then slightly dysfunctional seemed to pervade the diner just as plainly as the odor of any food source in the room. “Good morning,” said the waiter, as he walked up to the table. “My name is Carl and I'll be your waiter today. Are you ready to order, or would you like a few more minutes to decide?” “Ah, we know what we want, don't we dad? We want two Super Big Scams. That makes it easy don't it?” replied Reid. But food orders from Robert, his father were much more involved and consisted of all the delightful little eccentricities of old age and rough times put together. “Listen, you piss ass bitch... I shit bigger chunks then guys like you every day. Now I'm only gonna say this once, so listen up. I want my eggs scrambled lightly, not that overcooked crap ya pound nails with, got it?” “Ahh,” was all Carl could say, dreading the moment he'd gotten out of bed that day and plainly showing the growing pain he was feeling through the new expressions forming on his face. “An I want my bacon crispy, not greasy. That limp shit's no good for your stomach or your heart. An I want rye toast, lightly buttered. If I see it swimm'in in butter, I'm go'in straight ta your boss, got it?” “Yes sir, I've got it, I think,” were all the words the waiter could push out. But as he slunk away, conversation between Reid and his World War Two vintage father began to lighten up, as Reid recalled a joke he'd once heard. “Hey dad, I got a joke. It's funny as hell, you'll love it.” “Yeah, a joke. Okay, lets hear it. Make it fast wouldya? Ah'm not in a real joke mood right now.” “Oh, come on. You'll love it. It's hilarious.” “Okay, lets hear it already.” “Alright, alright, ahh... just gimme a second ta remember it.” “Do ya know it or don'tcha? First ya tell me ya got a joke, then ya can't remember it. Ya know, me an your mother could never reach you. You were always somewhere out there in outer space or someth'in, like Sputnik. Go ahead already, make my day.” “Well, there's this church bell ringer see... an he does a great job ring'in this bell like he's supposed to, like clockwork, everyday. Only, like, he's got no arms! Everyday, he runs inta that damn bell with his head, only one day... he misses it completely, I mean he runs right past it, flies right over the side a the bell tower, an bam, he's gone.” “That's hilarious,” replied Reid's father. “Bam, he's gone. Ya got anymore like that? Hey, were's our food, ah'm starv'in here.” “No dad, that's not the end a the joke, ya see,” Reid continued, doing his best to elaborate on the unfinished piece of satire but as luck would have it, the pair's food order had just arrived and took priority to any jest. “Good Carl,” remarked Robert. “Ah'm so glad you could make it. Have trouble finding us?” Click here to read the rest of this story (96 more lines)
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