“The shrimp is a wonderful choice, ma’am,” the server tells you, as if you didn’t already know your menu choice was nothing short of superb. “If I may, however, I’d like to recommend some of our – ahem – bolder flavors to accompany your meal.”
You throw your right eyebrow as high as it will go. “Bolder you say?”
A wicked smile flashes across the waitress’ face. “Indeed. Just a moment, and I’ll bring out a sampler platter.”
You tap your fingers rhythmically on the table as you watch her disappear behind the swinging doors that lead to the kitchen. After about half the drum solo of Hot For Teacher, the server reappears holding a tray of ramekins. She holds the tray a about a foot above the table and, one by one, sets the ramekins in a row in front of you. She points to each one and explains it.
“Smart Mouth Sriracha,” she says, pointing to a bright red liquid at the head of the row. “Spicy and sarcastic. Give it a shot.”
You dip a finger into the ramekin and retrieve it, painted in red. You run the tip of your finger against your tongue, feeling a mild, spicy burn. Then, you hear a voice inside your head.
“Nice technique,” says the voice. “That how you taste your old man’s cum? That how you want your dinner to taste?”
“What the fuck?” you say out loud.
“Yeah,” says the waitress, “it can be inappropriate sometimes. Next,” she says, gesturing toward the next ramekin in line, “we’ve got Badass Barbeque.”
You repeat the dipping ritual, and as your finger grazes your tongue you hear a southern-fried accent.
“Woo! Let’s round up a posse and make that shrimp regret the day it was born!” it says. You hear a few small pops inside your mouth, and a thin plume of smoke rolls out of your nostrils.
“Feeling motivated?” asks the server.
You shrug.
“Anyway, last sauce is Terminator Tobasco,” she says, pushing the last ramekin toward you.
You turn a cold stare to the waitress. “’No.”