Securing the Frown

About a month ago, Kings Family Restaurant unveiled what would possibly be the most ingenious marketing scheme ever: the Frownie. It's a direct parody, and new competition, for the Eat n' Park Smiley Face Cookie. It's the very antithesis of that much beloved icon of the EnP.
The Frownie is a dark, this chocolate brownie with a terribly depressing icing sad face on it. With catch phrases accompanying it like "We Make a Mean Dessert" and "Have a Pity Party" it's a true spit in the face of all that happy shine that Eat n' Park is always peddling. Of course, this fits the Kings image oh so well; they've always been that dirtier, rogue 24-hour family restaurant that is perfectly happy doing its own thing.

I freaked out the first time I saw one. I don't think I've ever laughed that hard at a piece of food before (well, with the exception of those weird food amalgamations you put together at the lunch table in high school). I freaked out a little more when I saw that the waitresses were all wearing small rectangular pins that looked like the Frownie itself. I had to have one. I was with my family when all of this was going down, and my father and I had pretty much convinced the waitress to give me the one she was wearing. "We have a whole bag of them in the back," she said. I thought I was a shoe-in, and was fully prepared to leave her a healthy tip in return. But she reneged on the deal, and never handed over the goods.

Friday night, after we finished Dweller improv and practice, Larry, Ben, James and I went to Kings for some Triple Crown Breakfast. As we walked through the parking lot to get to our cars, I declared, "Our mission tonight... is to get a Frownie pin. I have to have one. This is our objective." Everyone agreed on the plan, and we put things into motion.

Kings was packed with screaming, bratty high school kids who had come from the local football game. It brought back memories of summers past, when me and my buddies would go to Kings every Friday and just sit back and watch how stupid the generations after ours were going to be. The odds were already against us, because the waitresses at Kings hate to deal with obnoxious kids. All of the servers would be in a collective bad mood, but we had to try for the pin anyways. Keep our eyes on the prize.

Larry started right away while we were ordering drinks. He knew the waitress pretty well, since his family goes to eat there every Sunday. He tried to talk her into handing over the pin and she merely replied, "I would if I could... but we aren't allowed to." Larry said he would just have to come back on Sunday and ask one of the managers for one. Strike one.

Strike two came a little later while we were ordering. The four of us were so courteous and friendly, she was immediately nice to us. We were a breath of fresh air amidst this sour, hormone-filled atmosphere. But, my requests for her pin were still falling on deaf ears. She just kept saying that she wasn't allowed to give them out. Larry had a theory that we were just there on the wrong night. If we were there on a slower night, she probably wouldn't care. But instead, it was packed, and alot of people were probably asking for pins of their own as well. These nameless shmucks didn't have the drive like I did, they didn't need this button as badly as I did.

When she brought out our orders, we hit head to head. She handed me my plate of pancakes and bacon. Then she handed me a saucer with two hashbrown bricks on it. I looked up at her and said, "I ordered the cheesy hashbrowns."

"Oh, I'm sorry!" she replied, "I can get you the cheesy ones."

"If you give me your pin, I'll eat the regular ones and save you some time." I had struck a nerve. She was in a hurry to leave, she was tired, she didn't feel like dealing with a messed up order.

After toying with the idea for a few brief seconds, she said, "Okay, I'll give you my pin if you eat these hashbrowns instead. But you have to promise to hide the pin, and I'll just tell my manager I lost it." And with that, she took off her Frownie button and handed it to me, along with a plate of deep fried potato-bricks. I had done it! I accomplished my mission! I got the prize! I gave Ben my hasbrowns!

I didn't stop smiling the rest of the meal. This was odd since I now owned a button that was truly sad and depressing. But I had the button, and that's what was important. I had made a goal for myself and I set out and accomplished it. I told Larry, James, and Ben that this is how we should live our lives. If we set a goal every day and then accomplish it, we'll get so much done! Why, if every goal is accomplished just by compromising your taste in potatoes, I can't wait until I set a new objective for myself. Maybe then I'll have to take french fries over home fries, or eat steak fries instead of curly. Who knows?