Get the Hell Out

I went into a restaurant that only serves pie. Any kind of pie you want - they have it. The place was called "Only Pie." Solid name if you ask me. I walked in and there was a single counter with red vinyl stools, kind of like a 1950s diner but with no booths, no tables and no women named Flo or Jo or Daisy. The woman at the counter's name was Geri. I saw her name tag and said, "Can I have a double cheeseburger with large fries and a large Coke?" I expected Geri to laugh and laugh hard. I was doubled over in my stool. I was crying. The laughter would not stop. I had diarrhea of the mouth, but with laughs.

"Get the hell out," Geri said. I stopped laughing.
"What do you mean? It was a joke. I'll have a slice of banana creme."
"No you won't. Get the hell out."
"Come on, it was a joke. I knew you only serve pie so I wanted to be funny."
"It wasn't funny. Plus, I'm a vegetarian and I'm kosher. Your ordering a cheeseburger offends me in so many ways."
"Jeez, I'm sorry. I didn't mean any harm." I really didn't.
"Your apology is no good here."

I waited a good 10 seconds before reacting. I didn't know what to do. I was confused. Why would she be so mad about this? Is this some type of test? Is God testing me? I looked up to the heavens. "God, are you testing me?"

No response. I guess I should read The Bible more often. Or stop making stupid jokes. Or both. Or neither.