I Hate Applebee's (part1)

Up until I typed the name for this post, I thought Applebee's was spelt Applebea's. So there is a start to show you how much I dislike this place. I decided that I would start with the most intense of the reasons for my strong dislike of Applebee's instead of going chronologically because I can. (oh, and part of this post is rather serious, so if you don't want to read it, then click here to laugh at my clumsiness)

A few years ago, I met a girl at a summer camp. We didn't talk to each other more than twice at this camp and I think only one of those times were an actual conversation. (sounds like the start to a great friendship doesn't it?) Even though we barely talked to each other at all during the camp experience, I ended up getting her contact information. Mainly because it was polite and everybody was swapping digits.

This picture has NOTHING to do with this post,  however,
I found it and its hilarious because French is falling out of bed
so I stole it and here it is...

I am still not positive what possessed me on the drive home that summer to type out a text and hit send to French, but I did. And looking back, I guess I could say it was a decent decision. Eh, I can live with or without it. (sarcasm sign! Great decision!) French and I quickly became great friends over the years. I rarely get to see her, and yet our friendship still thrives through the long distance. It's odd how that worked out. Who would have ever thought....

This actually takes place during one of the very few times that I have had the chance to see French in person. Mother and her had made plans to surprise me with us stopping by her campus one night on our way to vacation. Now, I would love to be able to tell you that they succeeded in this plot of theirs, but they did not. When Mother's phone goes off and she yells "Indi, I'm cooking, will you see what this text says!" and it is a text from French that says "So we are good for next Monday?" the secret kind of gets spoiled. But the attempt was appreciated.

So I promise, that the reason I am picking this pictures are because they
are funny...It has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that she is in bed.

So we are on our way to vacation and we mysteriously stop at French's campus. I wonder why we were there?? After thirty or so minutes of searching for French, (she had only lived on campus for one semester, but you would think she would know her way around...) we piled in the car and headed out for supper. Where did we eat you ask? If you guessed Five Guys, then you are so wrong it is ridiculous. However, we should have eaten there.

We got our table at Applebee's and ordered. Based on prior experiences with Applebee's, I already had some doubts about our meal. I ordered anyway. The meal seemed to be going fine for the first two or so bites. It was at this time that I started to think I could mend the damages done by Applebee's in the past. (have you noticed that every time I think something like this it turns out being totally wrong?? Because I have!) It was as this thought finished its course that French started telling a story. I don't remember what the story was about but I remember that she stopped telling it without warning or finishing it and proceeded to eat her food as if she had never started the story at all.

Strange. Maybe I should have thought twice before giving this girl my number.. What an odd thing to do... Before I got a chance to ask French what the end to her story was, something happened. This is where this post might get a little less funny and a little more serious. French slapped the table with both hands knocking over drinks and looked me in the eyes as she gasped for air. The look in her eyes was pure terror. Like she knew what was about to happen and she was begging me for help. Begging me to keep this from happening.

I wasn't sure what to do. I was scared. My best long distance friend had just fallen into a grand mal seizure. Someone jumped up and held her to keep her from hitting herself on the table. They eased her down on the floor as a restaurant manager called the ambulance. Finally I got the idea to pull her phone out of her wallet (the wallet I bought her as a graduation gift might I add) and called her mom to ask what to do. She gave me instructions for which hospital to take her to and I passed it on to the ambulance man before following the noise making truck to the hospital.

By the time I got to go back to her room (or cubicle rather) to see her, French was semi-coherent. I got to talk with her briefly about my purple shirt before having to give her a hug and leave to get back on the road.

Look! She isn't in bed!

French doesn't remember most of this post. And that's ok. I've had a few seizure-free visits with her since (both of which we have chosen Five Guys over Applebee's) and she remembers every one of those. So, I post this with hopes that it will defer people from "Eatin' good in the neighborhood." Because if you decide to, it will be anything but eatin' good.

Eat here instead...