By Amy McCarthy
By Scott Reitz
By Scott Reitz
By Lauren Drewes Daniels
By Alice Laussade
By City of Ate
Specials: Wednesday is Burger Day with a burger and drink, plus fries, tots or a cup of soup for $5.89.
"Sweetie" count: 3
Booth count: about 6 or 8
Grease-up paper napkin count: 2
Generally, I'm really un-OK with people calling me "sweetie." I swore to myself that I'd beat down the next Planet-Tanned 18-year-old waitress to call me any of the "sweetie" varieties (including, but not limited to "sweetheart," "honey," "hon" or "sugar"). And I will. It'll be:
Palm Beach Tanned Short Shorts: "And, what would you like, sweetie?"
Me: (punch, kick, punch, combo +3, swift kick to the babychute, check the Smackdown meter, spinning back fist, girl punch because I'm so tired from right-hooking your punk ass, kick) "I'll have the grilled chicken sandwich."
It's just not right when someone without a grease-soaked apron and a name like Flo or Betty Sue calls me that. I hate it. The reason I get my panties in a wad when the Oompa Loompas at TGI-Fake-Souvenirs-on-the-Wall-iggansi's call me "sweetie" is that when it's done right, like at Metro Diner, it's so soothing and 1950s-feeling. When the waitress at Metro Diner rolls up to my booth in her own good time with a pen behind her ear and a decades-old smoker's cough and growls, "Sweetie, it's Burger Day," hearts and flowers are all I see.
After hearing a perfect delivery of "sweetie," I ordered the Wednesday Burger Day Special at Metro Diner, which is any burger from the menu (except the double meat burger) and a drink, plus fries, tots or a cup of soup for $5.89. I scarfed down my cheesed, mayoed, mustarded and lettuce-pickle-tomatoed jalapeño burger with its generous side of tottage and a Dr Pepper plus a refill in about three seconds. It was euphoric. Then somehow I justified ordering a slice of apple pie for $2.15. You know they warmed that junk up and topped it with whipped cream. They're deliciously evil there. And the fact that they're open 24 hours a day—so you can smother yourself in cholesterol whenever you get a hankerin' for some sweet shortness of breath and a little tingling in your left hand—makes them even more evil.
It was the best food marathon I've run in a while. I would have worried about a heart attack, but it's located directly across the street from Baylor Medical. And when you're within walking distance of a defibrillator, it's time to go big or stop wasting Metro Diner's damn time.
All told, my bill came to $8.71. Major credit cards are accepted there now. (They realized they were being total cardists and should have been welcoming to all types of money.) So, instead of stealing Grandma's checkbook on the way there, next time I'm taking my Visa out to Metro Diner for a grilled cheese (which Visa says is orgasmic).