Went to the Heart Attack Grill in Chandler, AZ today.
You go in, sit down at the hollow, cross-shaped bar (medical, not religious) that has slanted mirrors down low so you can gawk discreetly at the asses of the “nurses” that take your order.
The menu is simple: burgers in 1/2 pound increments. I had the smallest, no cheese. Fries are 1 size: bottomless. Burger toppings are “help yourself” at the bar. Drinks: margarita, beer, or Mexican Coke (real sugar, not HFCS).
The nurse puts on your “hospital gown” and wrist band. The chef is wearing a surgeon’s gown. There’s an ambulance parked out front.
The nurse has the same, tired speech for each patron that comes in – I got to hear it 3 times. I tried to be generous about it when I got the spiel, knowing full well that this was scripted.
The nurses were actually pretty hot and it was nice to ogle their parts in their skimpy outfits. The mirrors were a nice touch for a creepy old lech like me. The uniform was slit up to the crotch – but they were wearing red boy shorts underneath. Don’t get too excited, boys. Or dikes, if you’re here.
The burgers were good. Really greasy. DIY toppings are always a hit with me. And the fries were deep-fried in 100% lard. Real lard! Hallelujah!
My favorite part of the experience, by far, was when I was done and staring off into space. A guy sat at the other side of the bar and the all-smiles nurse came up to put his hospital gown on. As she went behind him, her smile faded completely and she was staring off into space as she tied up the back. “Fuck this shit,” I could only imagine, was running through her mind. As she finished and came around to the front of the guy, her smile reappeared and the guy, probably early 40s, gave a tight-lipped courtesy smile in return.
Of everything at the restaurant, that bit of reality that I witnessed, that sensuous, sparkly morsel of actual reality, biting humanity, candy-coated despair was the best part. I’d gladly dump another $15 on the Heart Attack Grill just to witness that again.