Overheard: IHOP[apotamus]

So today I was up somewhere around ungodly early (for me, at least) for an appointment, and afterwards decided to treat myself to das ihop. Ihop always entertains, providing interesting characters and conversations to overhear, but generally you don't get three such conversations. And yes, unlike the masses who just use quotation marks, colons, and fanciful names to illustrate overheard conversations, I stay true to narrative structures. That's right, I went there.

ANYWAYS, back to conversation numero uno. They were literally sitting right next to me which was needlessly awkward (ihop has an odd center divider that isn't really a divider so much as a token barrier) and the entire time the woman did nothing but complain about how the syrup wasn't warm enough. 25 fucking minutes of not warm syrup. Oh, and her boy-toy talked about robbing MARTA. Seriously. "If those n*ggers aren't careful, I'm going to show up on payday with a ski mask and my glock. Get what's fucking mine." I practically died choking on my coffee when he said, and both he and syrup girl looked over at me, seemingly irate. I tried to ignore them and focus on casually smearing jam on a piece of toast, but I'm pretty sure they saw right through my act.

Conversation the two. College couple, obviously the awkward post-coital breakfast. The "bro" rocking sweats and a hoody - and a rather douchebag visor, while the "chick" had adorned herself in classic hood-rat club attire. Including stiletto heels (and no, knowing what a stiletto is does not make me gay. It just means I have occasional interesting thursday nights; those things are a bitch to dance on stage with, but I'm getting fairly good), so I'm assuming she is probably just working towards her MRS. Or is just a prostitute. Regardless, I didn't really hear much of what they talked about; I honestly tried, but said strumpet just rambled on and on using a goddamn baby voice, and I kept flashing back to directed study senior yet. It's a matter of personal pride that I didn't snap and pour hot coffee on her face; God knows I still want to.

Conversation the last. The stereotype, with a twist! They were sitting off in a corner, and I'm about 47% sure they'll end up on the news later tonight. Ma and Pa were yelling at each other in a deep inbred mountain-folk voice, while junior added a prominent lisp to the dialect. Yes, we're talking about a gay hillbilly here. It really shouldn't be funny, because Pa spent most of the time talking about beating his "queer ass boy" while Ma cried into her biscuits n' gravy. I felt especially proud of my state with Pa's "I sware ta God, wife, you call the cops agin an ay'll fuckin' shoot ya" outburst. How the hell are you supposed to respond to that? Probably better options out there than quickly eating the last piece of toast and skedaddling out of there before being forced to give a police statement and incriminate the dude from texas chainsaw massacre. Last thing I need in my life is Gunnar Hansen (or even the less intimidating but perhaps creepier Mathew McConaughey) chasing me around with an old chainsaw and a comically large flagon of moonshine.