GAY <---> GAY

Anyway, the gay hot dog tasted just fine, if a little fruity, but the service was nothing short of hilarious. Now, I don't know where Chicago ranks on the dope-o-meter, but I could have sworn that everybody at this joint was stoned out of their minds. After ordering, a giggly middle-aged fellow handed me a bag containing my gay hot dog and then just sort of wandered off without asking for any money. In fact, nobody seemed to be manning the register.

When I finally caught the fragile "attention" of another employee with my arm-flailing, fists full of cash, it took her a few moments to process my claims that I had not yet paid for anything.

"Money!" she uttered. "Right! Well.. the register's over here..."

And then she proceeded to stare at the bag containing my food. With both hands placed firmly against the counter she stared, and stared some more, utilizing some sort of x-ray vision or sausage-divination... which ultimately must have failed because she ended up gripping her temples and groaning, "I give up. What'd you order?"

I paid for the food, not bothering to mention that I'd been shortchanged. By this point, I simply wanted to leave - to preclude the possibility of losing intelligence via osmosis into the cannabinoid void. But before I could actually leave the establishment, the cashier(?) came a-running up to me, placed her hand upon my shoulder, and said, "here's your food sir!" completely oblivious to the fact that I was holding my order in my hand, in the very sack that she'd earlier been burning with her sausage-vision.

If you would like to find this hot dog joint, I can't help you. I was lost at the time (for reasons which may or may not be revealed in the future). What was it called? I don't know, I might have been drinking at the time. But if this is of any help to you, here - this is my recreation of the incident at the counter.

PS: "Homo Sausage" name inspiration obtained here.