I get there and the cashier taking my order is a beaut. Fuck yeah, she is gorgeous. But young. I think, and hope, not teenager young, but she could not have graduated from college. Seeing a hot young woman speaking to you, even only because she has to, brightens my day, so I order a roast beef sandwich cheerfully. And what do you know -- this restaurant actually has a TV. (I've been to this place before, but it's been years since the last time, so maybe they didn't have a TV then.) I could relax and let go of my stress because I could see the horse race after all (well, the reception was poor, but at least I saw Napoleon Solo outrace the other horses at the stretch run without the feed cutting out). I had an excuse to talk to this babe again; this time, I requested the TV be turned on to the Preakness, and because I had a reason to stay beyond eating my sandwich, I ordered french fries too, which I had planned to order until I decided to stay late at work and calculated that even though I couldn't catch the race in time, I should still make an effort to get to the Black Hart as quickly as possible ... which makes no sense now that I typed out that thought.
Anyway ... have no complaints with her service. In fact, when I ordered fries, she just skipped past the tip screen, which I guess means she likes me ... ? But it's not as if I could chat her up or anything. She served me my roast beef and fries, and that was it when it came to interaction.
Still, she is fucking hot. And as I finally left after eating and watching the race, it just so happened that three young women entered and immediately began speaking to that cashier. They obviously are friends with the cashier from school who dropped by to chat or eat or both. They were fucking hot, and unlike the cashier, who had to dress for work, these friends dressed for the hot weather we had and, well, dressed like young women, with their goddamn boner-inducing midriffs hanging out and shit. If I didn't have to go -- and if I were younger and less savvy -- I would sit down and steal looks at these three babes.
And then I realized that it was most important for me at that time to go because I had plans. I can say that my younger self would've dropped everything I would've done because ogling these chicks would be an urge I could not get over. And beyond that, the age gap was so apparent as to be instinctive. Even if I could assume these women were of college age, they still would be less than half my age. Could I even think to have small talk with them? What would we even talk about? TikTok? The new Olivia Rodrigo album? What they're studying? Finally, from the quick glance I took of the faces and bodies of these three hotties (do people say "hotties" anymore, or am I cringe saying that?) I think ... well, that they all look the same -- with each other, and with the cashier they said hi to. Maybe if I sat and looked at them for a longer, creepier period of time, I can discern distinct differences. I mean, they can't be quadruplets. But am I wrong to think that all young women these days look alike? I don't think I can say yes, but I'm going to stick to my guns and not say no.
Not going to lie; if I were a lot younger, I would be masturbating to the memory of these four babes. That feels ... wrong now. So maybe Matthew McConaughey was also wrong in Dazed And Confused -- even though what his character is saying would now be construed as Trump Disease: