Tag Archives: tip & eddie

T to the I to the P and E-double-D-I-E

It’s your average Burger King on your average Wednesday, except for two fellows sitting at a nearby booth, enjoying their Whoppers. One is Trevor Irving Price, known to close friends as Tip, and the other is one Edward Close, known as Eddie. Tip, a slight man of twenty-seven, sits down to two Double Whoppers, with cheese, medium fries and a Coke. Edward, a larger bloke, tries to limit himself by getting one sandwich, a small fries, and a Coke of his own, although much smaller than Tip’s veritable soda bucket. As is the case, eating usually brings out the best in both of them.
“Man,” Tip said, laying down his heavily laden tray, “I have never seen anyone be so nice to the people at BK.”
“BK? Is that what you hip youngsters are saying now?”
“You’re younger than me, dippy,” Tip pulled a face.
“My my, aren’t we grumpy,” Eddie said as he picked up a fry.
“Blood sugar’s low. Didn’t have time for breakfast. Losing sentence structure. Must kill. No kill. Eat now.”
And he does so, throwing himself into the first sandwich with gusto. Eddie, now left to relative silence, decides to finally answer the question.
“I’m nice to people here because I used to work at a place like this, and I know how much it can suck, even without people being angry. This is the only time I meet these people, perhaps ever in my life, and I guess I just want to be as kind to them as I possibly can.”
“So they don’t spit in your food?” Tip mumbled as he reached for the Coke.
“Not exactly,” Eddie laid back, still munching thoughtfully, one by one, on his French fries, “You should be kind to people, right?”
“Usually,” Tip grunted with just a bit of malice.
“And people you only see once, I guess, should get more kindness, relatively. You know, just to leave a good impression.”
“You’re leaving good impressions with burger jockeys?”
“It’s hard to explain. I don’t know, I just want them to know I care that they bust their butt at a job they’d probably rather be not doing. I’m not expecting extra food or someone to pat me on the back, I just think you should be nice to people.”
“You’re not nice to everyone,” Tip said, dipping his fries in one of three paper ketchup cups, “You really laid a hit on that chick at the office earlier today.”
“I know Alyssa, though,” Eddie said, taking a bit of his burger, “I know that she needs to be told things or she won’t get them done. I know I have to be hard on her for her to succeed, because I care about her. I know this because I’ve spent five days a week in well over a hundred weeks with her.”
“So what you’re saying,” Tip wiped his mouth on a napkin, “Is that the longer you know someone, the less kind you get?”
“Not exactly,” Eddie replied, “It’s just that I know them more, and I know what to expect. These guys behind the counter, I don’t know what to expect, I don’t know anything about them, so it’s just a sort of faceless, cursory kindness. For example, there’s onions on my burger.”
“You don’t like onions.”
“I asked for no onions. But I’m not going to go back and ask for them to make a new burger, because I don’t know them and ergo don’t know what to expect from them. If I knew someone in the back who was just being lazy, I would make him or her change it, but I don’t, so I won’t.”
“That doesn’t make any damn sense, man,” Tip started on his second sandwich, “Why are you mean to people you know and like and nice to screw-ups at Burger King?”
“You didn’t say BK.”
“Just answer my question.”
“Kindness is relative. Over years, you’ll see that I was kind in the large sense, even though there were rough spots. If I only meet you once, you get all that kindness doled out in one whole big dollop. If I were to come here every day and see the same guy messing things up, I’d say something. But I don’t, so I won’t.”
“But you’ll rip on Alyssa.”
“I rip on Alyssa because I know she can do better. I know her. The niceness gets spread out more over a long period of relationship. When you know someone, you know good and bad, what works, and what doesn’t, and what needs to be poked or prodded along. And when you really know someone, even being mean can be kindness, even though it doesn’t seem like it at the time. I’m trying to help Alyssa, so I guess it’s a kind of protracted, backhanded kindness. I want to help Alyssa, and I could really care less about these guys here, so they get a kindness that basically means I don’t care. I care if I’m mean…that sounds kinda weird and messed-up, but that’s the way I work.”
There was no response. Tip’s mouth was full of Whopper. Eventually, he swallowed, finished his Coke, and headed back to the counter. Eddie’s jaw dropped.
“You can’t seriously still be hungry?” He gaped.
“No, I’m going to go buy you a pie,” Tip grinned, “You’ve known me seventeen years. By your estimate, you must be plotting to kill me by now.”
Eddie grinned back, happy that Tip at least understood him, even if he didn’t agree.
“Murderous intent has often been rectified by pie…” He ruminated, finishing his small fry and patting an angrily growling stomach, “it’s how they won the Cold War.”
“Yeah, if only Castro hadn’t sent us that lovely Dutch Apple.”
“For want of a pie, the war was lost…”
And the two friends dissolved into laughter on a brisk October afternoon.

By Popular (by which I mean MY) Demand!

Trevor Irving Price (known to his close friends as Tip) enters the local Krispy Kreme. He spots his friend, Edward Close, enjoying a cup of coffee at the corner table.
Tip:…Why are we meeting at the Krispy Kreme? I feel like I’m gaining pounds from inhaling. And aren’t you on a diet?
Eddie: Well, you’re always on with those food metaphors, so I figured I’d try my hand at it.
Tip: Oh, lady problems?
Eddie: Ay-uh.
Tip: Ladies…shaped like doughnuts?
Eddie: Uh-no.
Tip: You’re gonna hafta gimme some help here, man, I’m not getting it unless it’s about some chubby chick.
Eddie: Oh no, she’s pretty good lookin. And I didn’t think she was that smart, but she’s not an idiot, and well…
Tip: Well…?
Eddie: Okay, here me out on this.
Tip: Roger dodger.
Eddie: You know I’ve been on a diet lately, right?
Tip: Yeah, I’ve noticed you don’t drink as much, or eat as much when we’re at the Pub…
Eddie: Well, I’ve been trying to slim down a bit. And obviously, this is NOT a place to go to if you want to get not slim. Capisce?
Tip: Yeah su– wait did you just say capisce?
Eddie: Ay-uh.
Tip: Been watching the Sopranos or something?
Eddie: TiVo, my friend.
Tip: Well played.
Eddie: Anyway, back to the doughnuts.
Tip: Mmmmmm…doughnuts…you mind if I get one? I know you’re on a diet…
Eddie: Go ahead, it’ll actually help me prove my point. Oh, and can you refill my Joe?
Tip: Sure thing.
*Tip exits, and returns with two fresh cups of coffee and three, yes three, Krispy Kreme originals: glazed*
Eddie: Ah, doughnuts. So sweet, so sinfully seductive to a sustinence slacker.
Tip: Cute. Now tell me what the hell these doughtnuts mean.
Eddie: Well, think about it. You really want a doughnut. They’re tasty, they’re readily available, you could just eat em all you want.
Tip: Go on…
Eddie: Well, should you always eat them? I mean, what if you’re on a strict diet?
Tip: I think I’m getting your drift. So you wanna devour a particular doughnut, eh?
Eddie. Ay-uh.
Tip: But your diet won’t let you?
Eddie: Ay-uh.
Tip: But you’re wondering if it’d be okay to break that diet?
Eddie: Pretty much. But, you know, after I do it I’ll feel guilty. And you know I’m never gonna see that doughnut again, and it was really only a partial sense of gratification I’m gonna regret later.
Tip: I see what you’re saying.
Eddie: So, I figure if I can sit in here and watch you skinny ass pound down some doughnuts.
Tip: Okay, given the present metaphorical circumstances, ew.
Eddie: Sorry. But anyway, I figure if I can resist these doughnuts, I can resist the other…doughnuts.
Tip: I see what you mean. Good on ya, mate. But…
Eddie: What?
Tip: Does this mean I get to eat all your doughnuts?
Eddie: I cannot believe you said that.
Tip: And what are we talking here? Only glazed? Because sometimes, you know, I dig a little cake action, or a little frosting now and then, or maybe one of the French Twirl variety…
Eddie: la la la! I’m not listening!

Back by (my) Popular Demand!

Tip: Man, I LOVE club sandwiches.
Eddie: Yyyup.
Tip: I mean, the turkey, and the bacon, and the way everything comes together…just…mmmmm!
Eddie: Yyyup.
Tip: But…you know…it’s not the same.
Eddie: How so?
Tip: Well, think of it this way. This is just a sandwich, right? Bread, meat, cheese, condiments, some veggies…you know.
Eddie: And?
Tip: Well…I could go out to the store, right now, and get some bread, and some meat, and some condiments and what have you, but…
Eddie: But what?
Tip: But it wouldn’t taste the same. No matter what, a sandwich you make doesn’t taste as good as one that some other guy makes for you.
Eddie: I suppose so.
Tip: Wanna know what I think?
Eddie: Morbid Curiosity and the sake of my well being hasn’t stopped me yet.
Tip: I think… that it tastes so good because it’s the taste of servitude.
Eddie: *blank stare*
Tip: Think about it! You go to a deli, and you get a sandwich. A sandwich is a sandwich, man! But it tastes better…because someone else did it for you! You said to that guy, “make me a sammich!” and he did and it tastes better because you commanded it. In a way, it tastes better because you have enlisted the services of your very own, private, club sandwich bitch!
Eddie: Ever think your obsession with food goes a little far?
Tip: Come on! Think about it! Why else did you think the Southerners didn’t wanna give up slavery? The cotton farms? Shit no! It was because their sandwiches were FUCKIN’ AWESOME. Not only did they have sandwich bitches, but they never had to pay a damn dime after day one!
Eddie: …how much coffee have you had today?
Tip: …not that much…
But seriously, think about it! I could go into Burger King, go behind the counter, use their products, their appliances, their amenities, and make my own Whopper…but I bet it wouldn’t taste as good as one that putz behind the counter made!
But honestly, why the fuck is he so special? I mean, why is some pimply faced 15 year old capable of making such a great sandwich for me? Is it because of the nose rockets he’s secretly firing into my burger? Or is it because he’s my bitch, if only for a short time?
Eddie: …never say “nose rockets” again
Tip: I tell ya, man…it’s like they’re inside my head. Sun Tzu said “know your enemy” and they sure as shit know me. I don’t know how they do it, but they find some way to make that sandwich just how I want it. They know what I want…and they do it. And it tastes so good because I commanded it, and they did it, and for one brief moment I lorded power over another human being for means of sustenance! I command, they deliver, and it tastes sooooo gooooood!
Eddie: You’re scaring the waitresses.
Tip: Think about it, man…you know I’m right!

The Adventures of Tip and Eddie!

Bartender: What’ll ya have, boys?
Tip: Guinness.
Eddie: Likewise.
Bartender: Don’t even know why I ask anymore…
Eddie: So Tip, whatever happened with Jessica?
Tip: Oh, I dunno. Things just kinda fizzled out and faded away. I guess she didn’t want to hear what I had to say.
Eddie: …and what did you have to say?
Tip: That I thought she was a pretty awesome girl, and that I’d like to get to know her better.
Eddie: …and?
Tip: And that I found her attractive.
Eddie: There’s your problem, Tip. You probably ruined a good thing by crossing that line.
Tip: I know, I know…I just couldn’t take it anymore, really. I had to let her know. Not only was it driving me nuts, but I felt like I was lying to a girl that I really have a lot of respect for, ya know?
Eddie: I guess…but still you shoulda known you were going on a suicide run with a girl like Jessica. She’s…you know…
Tip: Just say it, Ed. She’s better than me. I know it. But damn, sometimes I like to take that chance, and maybe see if I can sneak one past the guy up there who’s dealing the cards. Maybe I could pull an Ace out one of these days, ya know?
Eddie: How about a Queen of Hearts?
Tip: I’ll take that. It’s just like…I dunno… like I go to a restaraunt, and I want Filet Mignon. I’m ready to pay, and I’m ready to tip the guy good and all, but he won’t let me. He wants to give me hamburger instead. Now, don’t get me wrong Ed, you know as well as I do that I love a big juicy hamburger. But sometimes I want filet mignon, sometimes it’s been a hard day at work or I just accomplished something that I’m proud of and dammit, I think I deserve the filet mignon, maybe just for one meal, maybe not forever, but at least for a little while.
And yet, I see across the restaraunt, some dumbass chowing down on Filet Mignon, and eating it like an absolute barbarian. He’s got ketchup globbed all over it, he’s not cutting it into reasonable pieces, he’s not savoring the flavor. He’s just smacking and slurping and inhaling a beautiful piece of meat with reckless abandon and no sort of respect or appreciation for such a fine cut of meat. To him, it’s just a piece of meat. Better than that, it’s Filet Mignon, it’s a status symbol. He can get it, so he does, but he doesn’t really deserve it or even really, truly understand it.
I appreciate a fine cut of meat like that. Not just for it’s cosmetic value, societal status, or plain taste. I appreciate the subtleties of it, the meaning behind it, the specialness of it. I enjoy it just the way it is, not covered in some salty sauce. I take the time to savor and truly enjoy my time with it, I let that filet mignon know that it is special and that filet mignon doesn’t come around every day. I make this moment count, this brief moment I get to share with something so…
Eddie: delicious?
Tip: Yeah, let’s go with that. But the damn waiter will only give me hamburger. And I don’t want hamburger tonight. Maybe next week I will, but tonight I’d like to have some filet mignon. It just seems like there’s always some asshole waiter in my way giving my filet mignon to some jerk who doesn’t deserve it.
You understand what I’m trying to get at?
Eddie: I think you’re just hungry.
Tip: Maybe you’re right. Hey, can we get some menus, please?
Bartender: (setting down their glasses) really? You’re actually going to eat here for once?
Tip: Yeah, why not.
Bartender: Well I’ll be damned.
Tip: You…you wouldn’t happen to have filet mignon, would you?
Bartender: sorry kid, but I got a porterhouse in the freezer that seems your type.
Tip: Sounds good. Medium rare, please
Eddie: She got a sister?