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The Crowd You're In With (aka Cheerio Trees) - All the world's a stage...
... the men and women merely players.
The Crowd You're In With (aka Cheerio Trees)
By Rebecca Gilman

I’m a waiter, right? The people with the kids come in, and it’s one of two things. Either they bring a whole refrigerator’s worth of food with them, in these little Tupperware containers, or they don’t bring anything. Both suck equally. If they bring in the food, it’s like, they hand you a Tupperware full of some sort of mush and they ask you to take it back to the kitchen and put it in the microwave for thirty-six seconds, like you have nothing else to do and, like, there’s a fucking microwave in the kitchen, which there isn’t. So you take it back and throw it under a warming lamp, for, like, two minutes, then you bring it back and they stick their finger in the mush and they ask you, “Could you warm it up for eleven more seconds?” And while they wait, they open Tupperware number two, which always has Cheerios in it. Always, always. Fucking Cheerios. Which the kids -- they don’t eat the Cheerios. They throw the Cheerios. They spread the Cheerios like seed, like they’re seeding the restaurant with little Cheerio trees. These people leave their tables, and it’s like a goddamn cereal… PB and J.. booger… tsunami hit.

(Dwight breathes.)

But if they don’t bring the food, it’s fucking torture the other way. “Could the kitchen make, like, a bowl of plain pasta, with no sauce of any kind on it?” “Could he get a cheese pizza? But could you scrape the cheese off before you bring it out” “Do you have, like, any kind of melon or fresh fruit in the kitchen? Could you just bring us a little bowl of cut-up fruit? Oh. That’s a lot of fruit. Is that the only size bowl you have?” “ Was this -- did you make a cheese pizza? Because you have to make a cheese pizza and scrape off the cheese. If you didn’t put the cheese on at first, then it’s just a sauce pizza, and he won’t eat it. He won’t eat that.” (Beat.) Eat this, asshole.

(Dwight grabs his crotch.)

(Windsong: God.)

Here’s an idea: Next time, go to Applebee’s. There’s a menu there, for kids. It’s called a “kids’ menu.” Chicken fingers. Wieners in sauce. It’s on the fucking menu. Along with a word search and a crazy maze. Here are your crayons. Go wild.


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