Congratulations on Meeting Jon Leguizamo!

You’ve been waiting tables in L.A. for some time now. Like almost everyone else who’s moved there over the years you went there seeking your fortune and like around 98% of those people you’ve ended up in the service industry. You work as a waiter in “Chris’ Crap Shack,” a restaurant that serves various poo-themed dishes.

They very in originality from “curry” to “poop chicken” to “pooper tots” to “cooked squash.” Your dishes are as tasteless as the theme and the prices are absurdly exorbitant, but your clientele consists entirely of the rich and bored so no one complains.

You’ve met a lot of celebrities this way. Alan Colvert and Judd Apatow once ate there, on a lark. And Gwyneth Paltrow is in there so often it’s become uncomfortable. She always sits in your section, too, making eyes at you, asking you what your poop is like. You even get some porn stars, which is actually the least surreal part of working there. They’re usually just normal people who have given up on life, so you can totally relate.

But, oddly enough, you’ve never had to wait on a celebrity you’ve found truly distasteful. You managed to avoid waiting on Jerry Lewis since he sat in Kara’s section. And when Joe Francis stopped by your manager just asked him to leave, the way they do at most restaurants in the continental United States.

But tomorrow night John Leguizamo, a.k.a. The Pest and that weird fat clown from Spawn, is going to ride in with his posse, which consists entirely of young Hispanic men dressed in bright colors and parachute pants. He’s going to sit down at his table, deep in the heart of your section, and order “the farts.”

Then he’ll laugh like he’s some kind of genius.

You’ll calmly inform him that there is no dish of that name, and that you can provide him with a dish from your menu, but halfway through your sentence he’ll cut you off and tell you to bring him some poop or something, whatever you guys serve here. He’ll clearly be high on cocaine, so you won’t press the issue.

You’ll go around the table and his friends will all actually be pretty nice, except for one irritating young woman who is clearly also high on cocaine. They’ll make reasonable orders, act polite and make eye contact. But when you bring back the order to the chef he’ll shake his head and get the manager.

Your manager, Greg, will shake his head. He maintains a strict “the customer is always right” policy, strange orders included, and he’ll put out a call to everyone in the kitchen to help fill this one.

Unfortunately none of the chef’s staff will have to poop. They’ll all have avoided eating before coming to their shifts for this very reason. But lucky you, you ate all that Metamucil earlier on a dare and you’ll be fucking raring to go.

You’ll take a nice big shit on a platter, loaded with “extras” such as corn and peas, and the chef will garnish it with a light salad. Then you’ll bring it out to Leguizamo with all the other dishes and wait by the table to see how they like their food.

As it turns out he’ll absolutely love your shit. We’re not sure if it’s because of the drugs or just his way, but he’ll eat up every last dollop like it was the best thing he’s ever tasted. He’ll even enjoy the unsolicited “semen salad dressing” you and the kitchen staff added to the meal.

Then he’ll get up, along with his entourage, tip generously, and leave quietly.

You’ll keep working your shift only mildly surprised. Working in a shop that sells poop shaped food kind of numbs you to these sorts of things, after all. And your brief foray into prostitution certainly helped with that too.

Anyhow, congratulations on meeting Jon Leguizamo. You’ll be fulfilling something we’ve all dreamed of tonight.