Bitter: “Why do I hear screams of a child coming from the kitchen?”
Me: “How do you like that chicken quesadilla? Taste like chicken?”
Bitter: “I didn’t think were cooking children! I figured someone might have bought their kid for some reason.”
You never know what they are putting in the quesadillas. But it turns out there was a party of screaming kids in the other section of the restaurant, that was resonating through the doorway that leads to the kitchen from the section were were in. I was surprised, because usually if there’s screaming kids in a restaurant, we somehow manage to get seated next to them.