“I’d like a margarita, a dinner salad and the grilled tuna, well done please. OK?”

“Certainly. Excellent choices, sir.”

Five minutes later, the waitress returns with two Cokes. What the hell?

I ask my friend – and at this point I am not kidding, I actually believe this – “You heard me ask for a margarita, didn’t you? I mean, I asked in English, right?”

I thought for a minute that I’d figured out why I get Dr. Peppered so often. Maybe I only THOUGHT I was ordering in English, when in fact I was speaking a gobblydegook Martian dialect instead. Maybe she agreed with me because she was too embarrassed to admit she didn’t understand what the hell I said?

But no, he heard me ask. He understood what I wanted, so she must have too. And he heard me ask a second time… and then a third.

The margarita finally apeared, the salad never did, and the tuna was more like sushi than grilled.

I may not know why I constantly get Dr. Peppered, but at least I know it isn’t because I speak Martian. Maybe the waitress was from Mars… that could be it.

Naah, they’re from Venus, aren’t they?

Author: frenchy