Banned From an Amish Restaurant, Part One

After I pulled off the woman’s headdress, taught her children new curse words and exposed my iPod to the customers, one could say I lost my temper.

Not many people can brag they started a bar brawl at an Amish restaurant.  I might be the first.

I have always had a strange fascination with the Amish.  It’s similar to my fascination with meth.  I love the concept of meth.  Mainly for the increased speed and the thorough house cleaning that I believe 96 hours of wide-eyed alertness would allow.

I have never tried meth, but I did try Amish.  I wanted to be Amish, if only for a day.

The first step to integrate into their culture was to dine with them.  I found a place about 75 miles from my house, the Dutch Pantry Restaurant and Bakery.

 I called the restaurant.  They closed at 6 p.m.

I persuaded my friend Chris to go and we left for our road trip.

We arrived at Dutch Pantry at 3 p.m.

Outside was a long metal shed building.  Inside was the typical greasy spoon set up:  square tables, pullout chairs, a couple of booths and a buffet of mashed potatoes.

Mashed potatoes?  No more food?

Behind the register, an Amish woman sat and talked on the phone.  I could not figure out whom she could be talking to since no one in her community would have a phone to answer.  Chris walked to the counter.

 

Chris:  (To woman on phone.)  Is this all there is?

WOP:  We stop serving at 2 p.m.

Chris:  How come when we called we were told you closed at 6 p.m.?

WOP:  We do close at 6 p.m.  We stop serving food at 2 p.m.

Chris:  How come no told us that when we called?

WOP:  I don’t know.  Not my problem.

Chris:  Who’s the one answering the phone?

WOP:  I don’t know.  Not my problem.

Chris:  Are you the idiot answering the phone?

WOP:  Not my problem.

Chris:  I just drove 75 miles to get here.

WOP:  Not my problem.  (Sets down phone.  Walks away.)

Chris:  It’s about to become your problem bitch!  (Follows woman.)  I want to talk to the manager.

 

An Amish man, in my mind named Jebediah, stepped forward and stopped Chris.

 

Jebediah:  Ok now.  We have children in here and we don’t need them hearing this type of language.

Chris:  Well, they’re about to learn some new fucking words.

Jebediah:  Hey, hey, hey.

Chris: Get out of my face.

 

At this point, I’m the rational one.  I stand between Chris and Jebediah.

 

Irritated Tulsan:  Listen.  We just need to leave.

Chris:  I’m not going anywhere until I talk to the manager.

Irritated Tulsan:  We don’t know this town.  They are going to call the cops.  Let’s just go.

 

It’s a small town and we’ve made a bad impression. 

Being arrested and gang-banged in the local jail was my main concern.  Like every male, I have an inflated perception of my looks. I believe I’m very do-able and prisoners would love me.  I also believe I would be offered meth, and … well … they would have the cleanest jail in Oklahoma.

The manager, in my mind named Hansel, walks out of the kitchen.

 

Hansel:  What can I do for ya?

Chris:  Well first of all, we called and were told you were open until 6 p.m.  No one said you quit serving food at 2 p.m. 

Hansel:  That’s right.  We quit serving at 2 p.m.

Chris:  I spent almost $40 in gas to come here.

Hansel:  Well it sounds like you need to get a better car.

 

Hansel triggered my breaking point.  My head turned 180 degrees, Exorcist style.

 

Irritated Tulsan:  Excuse me?  What the hell do you mean you need to get a better car!  What the fuck kind of restaurant … 

(To be continued.)

Click here for part two.