Dumb and Dumber step up to the counter every morning at eight o'clock sharp, right after the bell sounds for the first break.
Dumb might be dumb, but Dumber is a complete douche bag.
His outfit of choice is usually a wrinkled pair of khaki cargo pants paired with a hideous Hawaiian shirt. Most days, one side of the collar is tucked inward.
He sports a mullet, is rocking a porn stache, and has a dead-behind-the-eye stare that rivals a home-schooled Mormon.
His nametag reads Phil and let me tell you, Phil is a real fucker.
Consuela, the regular grill cook, is the best. Connie is fast, fun, and friendly. She's fanfrickingtastic.
Unfortunately Connie isn't here today, and if that fucker Phil thinks he's disappointed, he's got nothing on poor Bernice, the lady who answered her phone this morning when Consuela came down with an unfortunate case of the shits.
The only thing more dopey than that fucker Phil is his standard order every morning.
"Uh, yeah, I'll have two eggs - uh, over-broken, please"
Now, if Consuela was at the counter - she'd get right to work on the douche bag's order. Connie has been cracking Phil's eggs since he got named head of maintenance, over five years ago.
But this morning, Phil has happened upon an unsuspecting Bernice. And, the request for "over-broken" eggs has completely stumped this seasoned cook.
"You want what, Darlin'", she asks.
Cue the dead-behind-the-eye stare.
"Uh, uh, two eggs..."
"Yeah-I've got the eggs, honey. How do you want them, exactly?"
Bernice continues in trying to solve the mystery..."easy - medium - hard"?
She wipes the sweat above her brow - she's only an hour and a half into an eight-hour shift. Getting an order for two goddamn eggs shouldn't be so hard. This isn't exactly rocket science.
But Phil, being the fucker that he is, continues to make the simple things in life not so simple.
"Over-broken, kind of like over-easy, but broken."
A light-bulb goes off above Bernice's hairnet.
"Oh-honey-you want a fried egg, why didn't you say so?"
Now Phil's moustache is twitching.
Bernice doesn't flinch. She grabs two eggs, one in each hand, and cracks those sons of guns atop the hot grill. Then she grabs her spatula and busts the yolks in two firm swoops.
After giving them a final flip, she puts them on a plate and hands them to Phil.
"There's your two fried eggs, honey. Have a great day!"
That fucker Phil heads to the register, looking at his over-broken eggs. Disappointed.
Bernice turns back to clean off her grill. Victorious. Completely victorious.
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