I sat in the back of a large van, filled with young adults, similar in age to myself. I looked to be just a few years younger, maybe 18 or 19. There were three guys, and two other girls, making six of us, plus the driver. The driver was an older, balding man, who looked eerily similar to Red Foreman from That 70’s Show.
We were complaining about being hungry, so the driver pulled up to a large, Victorian-looking building, and informed us it used to be his favorite restaurant in the area. We climbed out of the van and rush inside.
The inside was awful. The wall paper was peeling off of the walls, and the floor made wet, squishy noises beneath our feet. It looked as though the building had gone through a hurricane recently, and no one bothered to clean anything up before re-opening. The building was empty, but the tables and chairs were set up as through expecting crowds of people, and the lighting was bright and new.
A man rushed out from the kitchen to greet us. He was tall, with thinning, blond hair, and was wearing a hideous, baby blue suit. He shook the driver’s hand and guided us to a large table in the middle of the room. He took our orders without writing anything down (I ordered mushroom risotto, even though I don’t care for mushrooms), and hurried back to the kitchen.
The carpeting was so soaked, that it was hard to push our chairs in and out from the table, and there was at least a quarter inch of standing water in the room, which was soaking our feet and pants. No one really seemed to notice.
One of the girls started complaining about how the building smelled like a sewer filled with dead rats, and we all seemed to agree.
An hour passed, and we still had not been brought our drinks, nor had we seen the owner, or any other staff. The building was still empty, and no one new had come in. We stood up as a group and marched angrily to the kitchen doors to speak to the owner. When we opened the door, we saw that the kitchen was small. Very, very small. And it was in a closet. Along with this tiny, apartment-sized kitchen, there was also a very naked woman wearing nothing but a chef’s hat, and the owner, who was having sex with her, on top of the tiny stove, which was definitely on.
We stared at them in disbelief, and they didn’t even acknowledge that we had opened the doors. Nope. They just kept on doin’ it. We quickly backed out and waited outside the door, embarrassed, until they emerged from the closet kitchen… several minutes later. Still naked.
The owner, smiling, offered to give us our meals for free, but we wanted to leave. I don’t know why we didn’t just walk out, as we hadn’t received anything we would have had to pay for anyway. We all shouted angrily at the very naked owner and his very naked chef, until they told us to leave. Which we did.
As we were walking out, I started writing a very bad review on the restaurant’s Facebook page, which was filled with other reviews, all very positive. We got back into the van and drove off. We didn’t even turn our heads to witness the building bursting into cartoon-like flames behind us, and crumbling to the ground. Minutes later, there was a news report on the radio about the fire, and they cited the source of the fire as a pair of panties left on a stove top. Ha.
We were all still hungry, so we decided to stop at a local blood drive, and steal all of the cookies. We were on our way to the blood drive to steal their delicious cooking…
And then I woke up.