Two Millennials came in to the Steakhouse on Tuesday.  Each was 28 wearing the requisite uniform of an ironic beard, several tattoos on the left arm and new clothes bought at a Big Box Store solely because they looked tattered enough to be Thrift Store issue.  After agreeing to share the Tomahawk Bone In Ribeye Medium because they weren’t aristocrats – thank you Goodfellas – things took a turn for the bizarre.

Millennial #1 – What sides can we get with that?

Me : Fries.  Sweet Potato Fries.  Mashers.  Garlic Green Beens.  Parmesan Broccoli.  Kale Chips.  Steamed Asparagus.  Creamed Spinach.  Steamed Spinach.

Millennial #1 to Millennial #2 – We can get  Fries.  Sweet Potato Fries.  Mashers.  Garlic Green Beens.  Parmesan Broccoli.  Kale Chips.  Steamed Asparagus.  Creamed Spinach.  Steamed Spinach.

Millennial #2 to Millennial #1 –  So we can get  Fries.  Sweet Potato Fries.  Mashers.  Garlic Green Beens.  Parmesan Broccoli.  Kale Chips.  Steamed Asparagus.  Creamed Spinach.  Steamed Spinach.

Millennial #1 to Millennial #2 – Yes.  We can get  Fries.  Sweet Potato Fries.  Mashers.  Garlic Green Beens.  Parmesan Broccoli.  Kale Chips.  Steamed Asparagus.  Creamed Spinach.  Steamed Spinach.

After another round of said discussion that was going nowhere fast, I pulled bartender rank ordering the Asparagus and Mashers.  “Your mother will thank me,” I told them.

It was a bizarre interaction but hey, maybe they like Abbot and Costello and I’m the straight man.  However, over the course of the rest of my work week I had at least one Millennial couple a night come into the bar and have the exact same interaction when I offered them side dishes for the their entrees.

As Rod Serling is dead I am forced to conclude the Interpreter  scene from Woody Allen’s Bananas was indeed prophecy.