I don’t know exactly how many goofy stories I have posted on this site. Hence the question mark. This is an odd little story that happened to me back in my college days of drunken debauchery. Most cannot be shared for fear that my son finds out years from now when I’m trying to tell him, “drinking is bad, yo.” But you know kids. They immediately do the opposite of what you tell them. Especially if you end your sentence with “yo.” <Sigh>
Anyway, back when I was probably 21 or so, living on the fashionable East Side of Milwaukee and drinking at least 3 nights a week, we would often frequent shitty restaurant George Webb after the bars had closed. Tis a tradition in Milwaukee. Do you have George Webbs in other parts of the country? Hang on, Wikipedia, here I come. Ok no, Wisconsin only. (But apparently there’s a British actor named George Webb). Anyway, it’s a greasy spoon, open 24 hours and for some reason they call their pancakes wheatcakes. Moving on…
So it’s probably 2 or 2:30 a.m. and several friends and I wander into the doors of a local George Webb. We all squeeze into a booth, talking loudly and laughing at God knows what. We grab menus and begin looking at what we’d like to eat. (Veggie omelet with hashbrowns for me, of course). One of the guys gets up to use the bathroom.
We immediately digress into a story about why we call Chris “Shitty D” (it’s riveting, believe me). When suddenly I realize, there are no other people seated in the restaurant. At bar close, this is very unusual. Even stranger, there don’t seem to be any employees in the restaurant.
Just then, in walk two Milwaukee Police Officers. In the words of Scooby Doo, “Ruh Roh!”
“How are you guys doing tonight?” they ask us. One of my friends later remarks that nothing good comes from a cop asking you how you’re doing tonight. True dat.
“Is there anyone working here?” Cop #1 asks.
“We were just wondering the same thing,” I reply. They head to the back of the restaurant to check things out.
“Please no dead bodies, please no dead bodies,” I murmur under my breath. I can see the headlines now, “Dead bodies found in George Webb; Cheri and friends under arrest.” Great.
They come back out and look at us blankly, “There’s no one here,” Cop #1 says.
“Is the cash register still there?” I ask. Because that’s exactly what someone who stole a cash register wouldn’t say. Pay no mind to the fact that someone who stole the cash register also would not currently be sitting in a booth, waiting to order an omelet.
Just then tires squeal and a guy and girl jump out of a car and rush into the restaurant.
“What’s going on?!” The girl asks frantically.
We explain that we walked in the front doors, but apparently there’s no one here. She says that they just hired someone new who was supposed to close up shop, but apparently he didn’t realize that you need to lock the doors when you leave. And you know, turn off the lights, like your Kindergarten teacher taught you.
So we all had a hearty chuckle. I asked for my omelet to go. They ushered us out the front door empty handed. Crisis averted.