Red Lobster Manager Doubts Joey Chestnut Will Make 7PM 4th of July Reservation

Jul 4

CONEY ISLAND, NY – Don Finerman, manager of a local Red Lobster, was seen nervously pacing the laminate wood flooring of his establishment Friday.

The source of his terror: a 7:00 p.m. reservation for four under the name "Joe Chestnut," booked mere hours after he publicly ingurgitated 70.5 hot dogs and buns in ten minutes.

"Put him down as a 'maybe,' but circle it in red and add a few question marks," Finerman instructed his hostess, Brenda.

Brenda, unfazed, made a small, neat notation on the seating chart.

Just this morning, the world-renowned competitive eater, Joey "Jaws" Chestnut, had apparently secured a table for 4 to celebrate his 17th Mustard Belt victory.

"But just in case he does make it…" Finerman muttered, his gaze drifting towards the men's restroom, a sudden, cold sweat beading on his brow.

"Brenda, call my son. Tell him to go to Costco. Tell him to buy all the toilet paper."

"All of it sir?"

"ALL OF IT. And two industrial sized plungers. And a Bible, if they have them."

Finerman's mind raced, a frantic slideshow of catastrophic scenarios. "And make sure the waitress gets him plenty of water," he commanded, a disquieting idea beginning to form.

"Just in case he wants to soak his Cheddar Bay Biscuits into a sort of doughy slurry and stuff them down his gullet like a pelican. Get the busboy to pre butter a dozen baskets. No, two dozen. We can't appear weak."

The hostess scribbled another note. "More... biscuits... for the... pelican... man?"

The pressure was visibly mounting. Finerman tugged at his collar, his eyes darting around the dining room.

"And... I suppose it's possible his three guests are also competitive eaters, their lower intestines currently packed with twelve pounds of unchewed, reconstituted meat product," he lamented, the angst in his voice growing. He imagined a quartet of gastronomic titans, a four horseman of the apocalypse descending on his domain.

"Our seafood boils... how do they come again?" he asked Brenda, his voice cracking.

"In plastic trash bags, Don," she replied with a deadpan tone.

"Hmmmm," Finerman pondered. "Maybe we can get something larger. See if my son can get any of those oversized leaf and lawn bags while he's at Costco.

His panic reached a crescendo as he considered his restaurant's signature "Ultimate Feast."

"The Ultimate Feast comes with a Maine lobster tail, snow crab legs, garlic shrimp scampi, and Walt's Favorite Shrimp," he recited, as if reading from a doomsday prophecy.

"My God, Brenda. To him, that's not a meal. It's a paltry peasant appetizer. A palate cleanser. What if he orders ten of them? Will our supply chain collapse?"

Finerman was last seen instructing his kitchen staff to begin pre-emptively melting every stick of butter in the walk in cooler into large, metal troughs. "If the legends are true," he was heard whispering to a terrified line cook, "He may opt to bathe in these afterwards."

Drew Forbes

Drew was raised by his 3 dads on an Emu farm in Humboldt, Iowa. He has an irrational fear of cockroaches, and seafood restaurants that leave some of the skin on the fish they serve. In August, 2019 Drew blacked out drinking bourbon Manhattans, and when he woke up the next morning this website had been created. Drew doesn’t have a beard, but if he decided to grow one it would easily become the most interesting thing about him. When he grows up some day, he wants to die.