Here’s a bit we did to poke fun at the Red Hen, the Virginia restaurant that banished former WH Press Secretary Sarah Sanders. The owner of the restaurant recently announced that it is permissible to ban Conservatives. And that got us to wondering what it must be like to make a reservation at the Red Hen. Enjoy!
Hostess: Good afternoon, Red Hen reservations
Man: I’d like to reserve a table for two, please.
Hostess: Let me see what I have. Inside seating or outside?
Hostess: Is this for a special occasion?
Man: No ma’am. My wife just had a hankering for some fried chicken and they say y’all make a pretty good bird.
Hostess: And the name for the reservation?
Man: Clodknocker. Earl and Darlene Clodknocker. But I call the missus Sugar Blossom.
Hostess: Alright, Mr. Clodknocker. Just a few more questions. It would be so helpful if you could provide me with your preferred pronouns?
Man: Come again?
Hostess: Your preferred pronouns. It’s a new policy to ensure that our wait staff avoids triggering customers by simply assuming they are male or female.
Man: Well, I’m a guy so I reckon my preferred pronouns are he and him.
Hostess: And your dining companion?
Man (puts down the phone and hollers): Hey Sugar Blossom, this gal over at the Red Hen wants to know what your preferred pronoun is. (picks up the phone) Yes ma’am. The wife says she’s a she – even though she does wear the pants in the family.
Hostess: Let’s see, we already have your credit card information so I just have two more questions to ask and we’ll be ready to confirm that reservation. Are you a registered gun owner?
Man: Well, yes ma’am. I’m mighty proud to say I’m a card-carrying member of the National Rifle Association. And I have a CCP so if anything goes down during suppertime I’ll have your six.
Hostess: And one final question, sir. Are you a Republican or a Democrat?
Man: Ma’am, I’m a gun-toting, Bible-clinging, Deplorable!
Hostess: (pause) Oh dear. I’m terribly sorry, sir. But we don’t serve Deplorables here. Perhaps you might be more comfortable at a Waffle House or a Walmart?
Man (puts down phone and hollers): Sugar Blossom, go get in the pickup truck. We’re eating supper down at the Chick-fil-A.
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