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tele wanted a steak tender enough to chomp with dentures
and food that filled them up: potato salad, macaroni salad,
rice salad, green bean salad, black bean salad, corn salad,
carrot salad with raisins. The bread was hot, white and puffy.
Lettuce was covered with croutons and creamy dressing.
Baked potatoes were piled with butter and sour cream. This
crowd did not worry about cholesterol. They had already out-
lived the weak sisters with heart trouble.
Fred and Ethel are experienced all-you-can-eat restau-
rant goers, Margery said. They skip the starchy salads and
bread and go for the expensive fruit and vegetables. Fred s
got at least five bucks worth of produce on his plate.
Fred s plate was loaded with salad, sliced mushrooms,
fresh strawberries, cantaloupe and pineapple chunks.
What s Ethel doing with those mounds of potato salad
and bread? Helen said.
Getting tonight s dinner. Watch.
Back at their table, Ethel slid into the booth first. Fred s
paunch provided privacy, but Helen could see over it on her
tall barstool. Ethel opened her purse and eased most of the
potato salad and bread inside.
That s disgusting. She s putting food in her purse.
Helen imagined it landing on hairbrushes and old Kleenex
and nearly gagged.
Relax, Margery said. Her purse is lined with Ziploc
bags. Look around the restaurant. Everyone is doing it.
Sure enough, when the waitresses turned their backs,
satchel-sized purses snapped open and swallowed salads,
vegetables and bread. Sugar and sweetener packs disap-
peared off the tables. Butter pats and creamers, ketchup and
mustard packets all went into the leather maws.
When Ethel s steak arrived, she cut it in two and dropped
half in her purse. Her baked potato went the same way.
In fifteen minutes, Fred and Ethel put away enough food
to feed a frat house. Fred ate his. Ethel stuffed most of hers
in her purse. She did have a bowl of clam chowder, along
with her half-steak and half-potato. She hit the dessert bar
190 Elaine Viets
three times. The first time, a big gooey chocolate brownie
went into her purse. The second time, she ate the Key lime
pie. On the third swing through, she got the bread pudding
and slathered it with sauce.
She s going for it, Helen said.
Margery asked for the bar check. They watched as Ethel
chewed her bread pudding. She gave a muffled shriek, then
grabbed her cheek dramatically. Bright red blood gushed
from her mouth.
A woman with a macaroni salad screamed, Help! Some-
body call an ambulance.
No ambulance! Fred roared.
You bet he doesn t want one, Margery said. That
would ruin everything. She put a twenty on the bar, but kept
watching the drama. A worried waitress ran over to Fred and
Ethel s booth. The manager, a thin woman in a blue blazer,
sprinted behind her.
Time for us to go to work, Margery said.
They started for the booth. The waitress was mopping up
the blood with napkins. The manager was wringing her
hands.
I m not a suing kind of person, but I ll have to take my
poor wife to the emergency room, Fred said. And we have
a four-hundred-dollar deductible on our insurance.
Why, Fred and Ethel, what a surprise, Margery said. Is
something wrong?
Fred looked up, startled. Ethel choked, but quickly recov-
ered. The manager looked ready to leap in and do the Heim-
lich maneuver.
Ethel bit down on that metal in her bread pudding. Fred
pointed to a piece of metal about half an inch long, lying in
a pool of blood. She s hurt bad. Look how my poor wife is
bleeding.
Wow, Helen said. Ethel must have magnets in her
teeth. That s the second time this week she s found metal in
her food. I was in the diner about two miles down the road
when she got metal in her meal. You wanted four hundred
DYING TO CALL YOU 191
dollars for your emergency room deductible there, too. Cash
only. I don t see any stitches from that accident, though. And
Ethel bled all over. She was eating bread pudding that time,
too. What a coincidence. I bet that piece of metal Ethel found
in her food looks a lot like this.
Helen produced the sliver of metal she d lifted from their
kitchen and put it on the table next to Ethel s bloody exhibit.
They were identical.
Fred s jaws were working, but no sound came out. The
waitress stared at Helen and Margery. The manager stopped
wringing her hands. She had an idea where this was going.
My, my, Margery said. Ethel is a regular horror show.
Lotta blood running out of her mouth. Of course it looks
worse when you smear it all over your face like that. What
blood type are you, Ethel?
Helen took a blood capsule from her pocket, held it up for
everyone to see, then squeezed it. Fake blood squirted richly
across the sequinned flag on Ethel s chest.
F-positive, Helen said. I m positive you re a fraud.
The waitress gasped. The manager smiled.
What do you think you re doing? Fred said. I ll sue
you for slander. I ll call the police. I ll
As he talked, he and Ethel eased themselves out of the
booth and down the aisle. Margery blocked their way.
I won t have you two crooks on my property. You have
twenty-four hours to pack up and get out, or I ll call the po-
lice and tell them about your hobby. Don t even think of ask- [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
zanotowane.pl doc.pisz.pl pdf.pisz.pl fopke.keep.pl
tele wanted a steak tender enough to chomp with dentures
and food that filled them up: potato salad, macaroni salad,
rice salad, green bean salad, black bean salad, corn salad,
carrot salad with raisins. The bread was hot, white and puffy.
Lettuce was covered with croutons and creamy dressing.
Baked potatoes were piled with butter and sour cream. This
crowd did not worry about cholesterol. They had already out-
lived the weak sisters with heart trouble.
Fred and Ethel are experienced all-you-can-eat restau-
rant goers, Margery said. They skip the starchy salads and
bread and go for the expensive fruit and vegetables. Fred s
got at least five bucks worth of produce on his plate.
Fred s plate was loaded with salad, sliced mushrooms,
fresh strawberries, cantaloupe and pineapple chunks.
What s Ethel doing with those mounds of potato salad
and bread? Helen said.
Getting tonight s dinner. Watch.
Back at their table, Ethel slid into the booth first. Fred s
paunch provided privacy, but Helen could see over it on her
tall barstool. Ethel opened her purse and eased most of the
potato salad and bread inside.
That s disgusting. She s putting food in her purse.
Helen imagined it landing on hairbrushes and old Kleenex
and nearly gagged.
Relax, Margery said. Her purse is lined with Ziploc
bags. Look around the restaurant. Everyone is doing it.
Sure enough, when the waitresses turned their backs,
satchel-sized purses snapped open and swallowed salads,
vegetables and bread. Sugar and sweetener packs disap-
peared off the tables. Butter pats and creamers, ketchup and
mustard packets all went into the leather maws.
When Ethel s steak arrived, she cut it in two and dropped
half in her purse. Her baked potato went the same way.
In fifteen minutes, Fred and Ethel put away enough food
to feed a frat house. Fred ate his. Ethel stuffed most of hers
in her purse. She did have a bowl of clam chowder, along
with her half-steak and half-potato. She hit the dessert bar
190 Elaine Viets
three times. The first time, a big gooey chocolate brownie
went into her purse. The second time, she ate the Key lime
pie. On the third swing through, she got the bread pudding
and slathered it with sauce.
She s going for it, Helen said.
Margery asked for the bar check. They watched as Ethel
chewed her bread pudding. She gave a muffled shriek, then
grabbed her cheek dramatically. Bright red blood gushed
from her mouth.
A woman with a macaroni salad screamed, Help! Some-
body call an ambulance.
No ambulance! Fred roared.
You bet he doesn t want one, Margery said. That
would ruin everything. She put a twenty on the bar, but kept
watching the drama. A worried waitress ran over to Fred and
Ethel s booth. The manager, a thin woman in a blue blazer,
sprinted behind her.
Time for us to go to work, Margery said.
They started for the booth. The waitress was mopping up
the blood with napkins. The manager was wringing her
hands.
I m not a suing kind of person, but I ll have to take my
poor wife to the emergency room, Fred said. And we have
a four-hundred-dollar deductible on our insurance.
Why, Fred and Ethel, what a surprise, Margery said. Is
something wrong?
Fred looked up, startled. Ethel choked, but quickly recov-
ered. The manager looked ready to leap in and do the Heim-
lich maneuver.
Ethel bit down on that metal in her bread pudding. Fred
pointed to a piece of metal about half an inch long, lying in
a pool of blood. She s hurt bad. Look how my poor wife is
bleeding.
Wow, Helen said. Ethel must have magnets in her
teeth. That s the second time this week she s found metal in
her food. I was in the diner about two miles down the road
when she got metal in her meal. You wanted four hundred
DYING TO CALL YOU 191
dollars for your emergency room deductible there, too. Cash
only. I don t see any stitches from that accident, though. And
Ethel bled all over. She was eating bread pudding that time,
too. What a coincidence. I bet that piece of metal Ethel found
in her food looks a lot like this.
Helen produced the sliver of metal she d lifted from their
kitchen and put it on the table next to Ethel s bloody exhibit.
They were identical.
Fred s jaws were working, but no sound came out. The
waitress stared at Helen and Margery. The manager stopped
wringing her hands. She had an idea where this was going.
My, my, Margery said. Ethel is a regular horror show.
Lotta blood running out of her mouth. Of course it looks
worse when you smear it all over your face like that. What
blood type are you, Ethel?
Helen took a blood capsule from her pocket, held it up for
everyone to see, then squeezed it. Fake blood squirted richly
across the sequinned flag on Ethel s chest.
F-positive, Helen said. I m positive you re a fraud.
The waitress gasped. The manager smiled.
What do you think you re doing? Fred said. I ll sue
you for slander. I ll call the police. I ll
As he talked, he and Ethel eased themselves out of the
booth and down the aisle. Margery blocked their way.
I won t have you two crooks on my property. You have
twenty-four hours to pack up and get out, or I ll call the po-
lice and tell them about your hobby. Don t even think of ask- [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]