Shouldn’t Have Pressed The Hash Key

(I am on vacation in a small island town. There’s a diner down the street from my hotel, which serves a breakfast buffet on the weekends. During the week, I go in and order from the regular menu.)

Me: “I’ll have two eggs over-easy, hash browns, toast, and the corned-beef hash.”

Waitress: “Sure, sweetie, it’ll be right up.”

(The diner isn’t terribly full, so my plate comes pretty quick. Only there’s something wrong.)

Me: “Wait, I ordered the hash, not the sausage.” *points to the two brown patties on my plate*

Waitress: “That is the hash. If it was sausage, it’d be brown.”

(For those who have never eaten hash, it usually comes in scoops, not neat patties like sausage. Also, sausage is brown, too. I’m confused, and cut into the patties. Sure enough, it’s corned-beef hash, perfectly cooked in round circles. The funny thing is, on the weekend buffet, hash is served in scoops.)

Me: “Err, okay.”

Waitress: *looking at me intently* “It’s hash!”

Me: *confused at her reaction* “Yes, I can see that. Thank you.”

(I turn to my plate, to see several of the fry cooks staring intensely at me, as I’m seated at the counter.)

Fry Cooks: “It’s hash!”

Me: *starting to feel really uncomfortable* “Yes, thank you. I was just surprised, is all.”

Fry Cooks: “It’s hash!”

(I still eat it, and it was good, but everyone from the hostess to the manager, about ten people, just had to assure me it was really hash, giving me very intense and rather creepy stares. I never figured out why they were so insistent on it being hash.)