The Loen and I are in Huntington, WV at TsubasaCon, which is surpassing itself. The kids are wild about our shirty goodness. We are both fighting the Deplorable Microbe. Not the Flu de Cochon, but the standard It's Fall, So Let's Fill Their Lungs With Crud bug. Meh. On the plus side, we have outdone the two previous years, sales-wise.
"L--so people with bad posture can cosplay"
I am unimpressed with UNO, the Chicago-style eatery at Pullman Station here. We were inveigled into going there with the promise of a Reuben and Fries combo for six dollars ninety-nine. We ordered beverages, and I ordered a seasonal brew (Shipyard, a Canadian ale), which would have served as a handy muscle-relaxant for various ills, as well as being tasty. Our waiter came back - I'll call him Chad, because he seems like a Chad - and told me "We don't have the things to make a Shapiro.", which is waiter-speak for "There is no such drink, you idiot.".
I would think a Shapiro could be made with Mogen David wine, with a pickled beet garnish.
I pointed out that what I wanted was a Shipyard ale. He trotted off to acquire one, and then returned to inform us that they could not get it in this region. This item in their full-color, printed, laminated seasonal chain-wide menu. I sighed the sigh of the long-suffering, and ordered iced tea. He brought the tea, and I inquired as to the Reuben combo, which was on the sign out front, enticing the unwary to enter.
Chad, who will likely make it big in middle-management, said, "We don't have the lunch specials on weekends.".
I asked him to go away while we figured out a different approach, whereupon I was seized with a heat rising from the back of my neck to the back of my head, and a fury in the front of my head. I maintained an outward control, but I wanted to break something. Chad allowed my to stew awhile, then walked back to take our order, which was "Let us pay for our drinks. We want to go.". He seemed surprised, but said no charge for the tea.
We left, walked two doors down, when I stopped and walked back to UNO's door. I reached for the handle, then decided not to go in. I was steaming, and no good would come of it. I stalked back to Loen, and we walked three or four blocks to Wendy's. Yum.
I muttered a lot.
We have beaten last year's total, and we still have a day to go. I hope that we feel better. This bug is no fun, and I am ready to be rid of it. I particularly despise the locomotive cough that barrels up the bronchii, through the throat, part goes on a siding out of your mouth, with the rest smashing painfully in your forehead. If Nyquil doesn't do the job, then we may pack up early. I would rather stay to the end, what with the money-making and all, but I do not want to drive seven hours home in the middle of he night feeling like we do.