The Kind of Crap Wiretappers Have to Listen to

      "Hey, girl, I just got your message! How was the big date?” Jennifer excitedly asked her friend Julie.
      “It was great. It was good. Tim’s a great guy!” Julie started to gush.
      “Oh that’s great! So, what is this whole terrorist thing then? By the sounds of your voicemail, I thought you were in bin Ladin’s cave!” Jennifer said.
      “I didn’t mean a real terrorist, just a kind of, like, a food terrorist.”
“Okay, you’re going to have to explain this. I’m not following!” Jennifer paused. “Wait a minute; does this mean you won’t want to double date?” She asked.
      “Well—“ Julie hesitated.
      “No! No, no, no, no! You do this every time!” Jennifer sounded upset and frustrated.
      “See—“ Julie started.
      “No. I won’t hear it. Food terrorist or not, you’re going on this double date! I’m tired of you always finding the little things and bitching about them.”
      “But—“
      “No buts! The last guy smelled strangely of baby powder. Before that you had the guy with the pink lunchbox and before that a serial rapist. You need to suck it up! Not every man is perfect.”
      “Well, the serial rapist was kinda sorta a bad thing.” Julie said.
      “Yeah, I can see your point there, but still, he had a great job and loved kids! You don’t find that everywhere!” Jennifer tried to convince her.
      “Will you at least hear me out on this one?” Julie sounded sad, like she didn’t call her best friend to get yelled at.
      “Fine, but I can already tell you what I’m going to say! A food terrorist doesn’t sound so bad, honestly!” Jennifer advised.
      “It’s okay, I just need to talk this out,” Julie said. “See, he picked me up in his fabulous car and then we went to this cute little Italian restaurant. And—“
      “What, did he fart on your entrée?” Jennifer interrupted.
      “Not quite,” Julie said. “Well, I ordered the chicken parmesan—“
      “Like usual!” the two girls said together.
      “And he ordered the chicken marsala,” Julie started back into her story only to be interrupted again.
      “Oh, God, he’s not a wino is he?” Jennifer said disgustingly.
      “I don’t really know,” She thought. “Why? Is that a bad thing?” Julie had never heard anything bad about wine lovers.
      “Oh, yeah! You know what they say about winos!”
      “No. Can I finish my story?” Julie was getting irritated.
      “Yeah, sure,” Jennifer felt bad. “Tiny penis,” she muttered.
      “Okay, so he got the chicken—wait, what about penises?”
      “Nothing, just wino’s have small wangs. Really, small wangs. The end.”
     “Really?”
      “Yeah, totally. Google that shit. Google don’t lie, baby!”
      “Oh, okay, I guess if Google says it,” Julie said, “Anyways, he ordered his dish and I ordered mine. And we were sharing a basket of bread. I ate that shit up.”
      “The bread is my favorite part of Italian restaurants,” Jennifer said.
      “Really? Mine are the Bellinis. They’re so good,”
      “Well, that’s because you’re a fucking lush,”
      “True,” Julie said. “So we’re sitting there under the beautiful candlelight and I’m wearing that gorgeous red dress—“
      “That you borrowed from me, by the way,”
      “Yes, I was wearing your gorgeous red dress, and he was telling me that I’m beautiful and blah, blah, blah. And I’m thinking that I’m totally going to go home with this guy when suddenly, out of nowhere—“
      “Oh, don’t say that, nothing is ever out of nowhere for you. You probably weren’t paying attention.”
      “No, I’m fairly certain that I was paying attention.” Julie sounded confident.
      “So, what happened?” Jennifer was curious.
      “Well, see the waitress brought over our food,” Julie started.
      “Did he hit on the waitress?” Jennifer interrupted again.
      “No, he—“
      “Did he talk with his mouth full?”
      “No, he did the strangest thing—“ Julie started to finish her sentence.
      “He farted on your entrée!” Jennifer exclaimed.
      “NO!” Julie shouted. “He did not fart on my entrée!” She said sternly.
      “Well, then I don’t know what you’re bitching about!” Jennifer sounded like she was going to give up.
      “If you would listen to me I’ll fucking tell you! Shit!” Most of Jennifer and Julie’s conversations ended up like this.
      “Jesus Christ, cuntmeister, just spit it out! Tell me what God-awful thing this poor boy did!”
      “He threw his food!” Julie said surprisingly.
      “Like, he threw his food at you?” Jennifer inquired.
      “No, like he was half way through his meal and he picked up his plate and threw it at the wall behind me!”
      “Just like that? Did he say anything?”
      “Yeah, he said, ‘I’m done.’ and threw his plate at the wall behind me! It was like a giant food bomb exploding in the interior of DeGiantes! It was awful! He is a terror, a holy food terror! I don’t know what happened! Suddenly there were mushrooms flying past my head! He’s, like, a food terrorist!”
      “Was he mad? Did you say something to anger him?” Jennifer sounded concerned.
      “No, I don’t think so. He was finished eating, I guess.” Julie sounded confused. “He just said it. He wasn’t mad sounding or happy sounding. He was just talking, like it’s normal to throw your food at a fucking wall.”
      After a brief moment of silence Jennifer said, “So, next week do you want to go on a double date?”
      “With Tim?!” Julie shrieked. “No way! I’m not getting kicked out of another restaurant.”
      “It’s not that bad. So he threw a little spaghetti. Big deal.”
      “They had to call security on us!” Julie was screaming.
      “I bet that’s never happened on a date before.” Jennifer snidely remarked.
      “He broke the owner’s favorite framed picture on the wall! She started to cry!”
      “So, you had a little adventure. It’ll be a story to tell your grandkids!”
      “Why me? Why do all the freaks like me?!” Julie started to cry.
      “No, it’s not you,” Jennifer sighed. “You have to kiss a lot of frogs to get to a prince.”
      “I know, I know,” Julie sniffled into the phone. “But why is everybody else finding princes? Where the fuck is mine?!”
      “How do you know Tim’s not a prince?”
      “He threw a fucking plate past my head! That’s how I know!” Julie started to shriek again.
      “That’s normal, everybody does it,” Jennifer lied.
      “No, they don’t!” Julie cried.
      “Yeah, sure, that’s why I can’t go back to Buca di Beppos.” Jennifer stated.
      “I thought it was because you fucked some waiter there,” Julie questioned.
      “Well, that and I threw a plate last time. And a glass. And my napkin.” Jennifer sounded convincing.
      “Oh, why didn’t you tell me?” Julie sounded sad.
      “Well, clearly, you would freak out!” Jennifer laughed.
      “So, really? You think Tim could be the one?” Julie started to cheer up again.
      “Yeah, definitely; he sounds smart, friendly, and certainly interesting.” Jennifer sounded like she was reading off of a script.
      “I guess it doesn’t hurt to give him another chance,” Julie forfeited.
      “Unless he hits you in the face with a plate of hot enchiladas,” Jennifer laughed.
      “Would he do that?” Julie panicked.
      “Nah,” Jennifer sounded annoyed and distracted.
      “I guess it’s not so strange. Lot’s of people throw things,” Julie told herself.
      “Yeah, sure. Look, don’t think about it anymore. Let’s set up a double date.” Jennifer said impatiently.
      “Okay, I guess that’ll be fine. It’s not too soon to double date is it?” Julie sounded concerned again.
      “NO!” Jennifer shouted. “Just call me when it’s set up,” Jennifer demanded.
      “Sure,” Julie said. “I’ll get started on it,”
      “Hey, someone’s on my other line,” Jennifer lied. “Can I call you back?”
      “Yeah, definitely,”
      “Okay, talk to you then,” Jennifer said.
      “Bye!”