The Beach And The Kitchen

by thoughtsonthedead

phish busboys(Translated from Spanish.)

Estos son algunos gabachos extraños, jefe.”

“Si, Jenkins.”

I said translated from Spanish, dammit.

“Sorry.”

“Gotcha.”

“Anyway, boss, Americans are odd, but these ones are downright strange.”

“They like Phish, Jenkins. It’s a band.”

“Yessir, I know. It’s Mexico, sir, not the Outback. I looked them up on Spotify.”

“Excellent service.”

“Good variety.”

“So, if you’re the expert, then explain it to me. I can’t make heads or tails of what’s going on. Doesn’t sound like music to me. Did the trumpet player get sick?”

“That’s a cheap and racist joke, sir.”

“What? You know I love Chick Mangione.”

“He actually played the flugelhorn most of the time, sir.”

“Yeah, I just don’t know the Spanish word for flugelhorn.”

“Sure. Anyway, they’re a jam band.”

“Yam band?”

“Jam.”

“Yam?”

“May we continue?”

“Sure.”

“They play the songs forever and the white people dance.”

“They call that dancing?”

“Maybe the better term would be ‘movement while on drugs.'”

“More precise. Good phrasing, Jenkins.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Do they all take drugs?”

“Sir, are you not selling them drugs?”

“Oh, of course, but I haven’t seen them take them.”

“Well, what did you think they were doing with them?”

“I don’t get in people’s business.”

“Smart.”

“Boss?”

“Yeah?”

“Jenkins is a very odd name for a Mexican fellow.”

“Probably. Did you see Bradley Cooper?”

“Thought he’d be taller.”

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