the flat top girl meets the flat top grill

we went to flat top grill last night to celebrate chris' sister birthday. i'm always wary of places that make you assemble your own meals. i have no idea what tastes good with what, and while everyone else around me is enjoying flavorful masterpieces of well-thought out dishes, i'm stuck poking my fork around a concoction that tastes like foot and contains random, disastrous elements. what seems like a good idea whilst in line is seldom, if ever, edible. plus, the whole joy of going out to eat is to have somebody serve you and create your meal for you. if i wanted to have a fucked up stir fry, i could do that at home.

i was captivated by the art work on the walls of this place, though. it was done by school children, and there was one piece in particular that i can't get out of my head. it was of a pink alien walking by a big, slanty house. the house was surrounded by a spiky, ramshackled fence, and the alien had a peculiar, unreadable look on his face, like he was either going to break into the house and kill the whole family in their sleep or maybe just knock on the door and politely ask to use the crapper. "i just ate at the flat top grill," the alien would say, dabbing sweat off his pink forehead, "and my bowels are in an uproar. i think i may have poisoned myself. can i please, please, please use your bathroom?"