How a Missing Finger Scored Me a Free Hot Dog at This Maine Restaurant
If you’ve known me even for just a mere 5 minutes, you know I am missing a finger; I can’t pass up any opportunity for a good joke that makes someone feel uncomfortable. I am a very self-aware person who has a permanent comedy prop at her disposal at all times, and boy do I love using it.
I’ve trained as a server and told the chef to slow down his cutting, you don’t know what could happen. *Lifts hand to show severed appendage*.
I’ve gone zip lining and told those in line around me not to touch the cord on the top, I’ve been there, done that. *Makes a show of missing finger*.
I’ve visited a zoo and alarmed children not to get too close to the lion cages, you don’t want to end up like me. *Wiggles nub*.
The best, though, is when someone accidentally sets the scene for me and I get to just run in with the punchline. People don’t know how to react, they immediately get uncomfortable, and they freeze not knowing if they are supposed to laugh along or feel bad.
The poor cashier at Blue Rooster just felt bad, plain and simple.
I was in line waiting for my friend to order some loaded tots at 1 a.m., an absolute must after a night out in the Old Port. It was my first time at the shop and I was bewildered by their extensive menu of loaded dogs and deliciously dressed tater tots.
At a complete loss on what to order, I pointed at the menu to show my friend all the options I couldn’t decide between. “There’s that one with the homemade relish, but those pickled onions on the other one do sound bomb”.
The cashier looked at me with disbelief.
“Are you... Are you flipping me off?”
A classic. He set himself right up…
As an actress who missed her days of improv, I seized the moment just like my mother’s amniotic bands seized my index digit, dropped my jaw to the ground, and acted shocked, offended, insulted.
“Actually, sir, this is what I use as my index finger. I am pointing. I am just a girl missing a finger, pointing to your menu, as you point out to the entire room that I am a freak.”
The very small store fell silent.
His jaw, already on the counter, then hit the floor. What came next was the classic stuttered apology that I waved off, “No, no don’t worry about it. It’s not your fault you assumed the worst from me. But, you know, what would make me feel better… would be a loaded dog”.
As much as I love a good, quick finger joke, I did immediately start laughing and brushed it off, let him know I found it all amusing, apologized for screwing with him, wiggled it for his entertainment, and told him I would of course pay for my food.
“That won’t be necessary. That was a rollercoaster of emotions and that actually made my night.”
We chatted, sent some jokes back and forth, and he hooked me up with a free dawg.
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