Impractical Jokers: [Joker]x[Joker] Collection

Poor Work Conduct (Joe/Sal)

       They've never faced a problem like this before. They'd been here for breakfast several times in their married life, always greeted by a lovely waitress who took their usual order - pancakes glazed with syrup and a steaming pot of coffee - and often lingered at their table whenever possible in order to talk to them, taking a particular fancy to Joe's humour. They always have a good time.

However, the presence of this new employee has stirred trouble.

Displeased by the two men holding hands over the table as they spoke to one another, he'd tapped Joe on the shoulder with his pen mid-sentence and grumbled something about serving them. Eye contact had been made between the pair, Sal's brow arching with evident distaste for his attitude but it had ultimately been quelled by Joe's calm demeanour.

"Yeah, uh, we'll just take–"

Gatto stops speaking when the server suddenly slaps his notebook in front of him on the table, pen thrust in front of him for him to take. A snapped 'would you mind writing it down?' has the Joker's brows dipping, slight smile threatening to break out at how petty the man is being. He isn't the first; he isn't original and he isn't clever, and such shows in how Joe plays along, grasps at the pen and writes their order down with no qualms as to what they want. At the bottom, he scribbles an additional note and waits for the waiter to read it over.

Apparently he doesn't find it amusing. "What do you MEAN you can 'smell my homophobia a mile away', you fucking idiot?"

Sal shifts his arm, elbow propped on the table, knuckles resting in front of his lips so that he can stop himself from laughing. Biting down on them hard to keep his humour in check, he watches his husband rebound his anger with a casual shrug.

"You're makin' a scene, man."

"You think I care?" The waiter leers, slamming palms on the table and towering over his 'tormentor'. What the hell do these men get out of coming out in public and flaunting their gay relationship? Who do they think they are? "Listen here, I don't want a couple of fags in here demanding shit. I don't–"

"Hey," Sal twigs, words searing as the waiter tears his gaze away from Joe to look at him."You're being a real asshole. Stop trying to cause trouble."

"Cause trouble?" He scoffs, snide smile smeared across his face like blood when it's forced out of a victim: it's unnatural, too strained, too messy, and it makes Vulcano's hairs stand on end as he tries to avoid the toxicity in his gaze. He's mean all right, vile to the core, and it makes the man shrink away. "You've got some nerve, sir. I'm not the one who came in here parading my sexuality like the fucking American flag."

Sal worries in that moment for he feels his husband's hand tighten in his grip, squeezing harder, as if in an attempt to keep his temper.

"All right, ya dope," Joe speaks up, earning the waiter's attention again. "Just forget it. We'll go somewhere else. Not without filin' one hell of a complaint regardin' the 'service' though. I'm serious, bud, either serve us like ya would anybody else or ya can get reported for the jerk way you're actin'- which, by the by, you'll be FIRED FOR. Your choice."

Sal knows that as soon as the man utters 'fuck you, fag' and spits on the table at Joe's offer, things are going to turn nasty. It seems to be at light speed that his husband stands up, and all Sal has a chance to get out is 'JOE!' before the waiter is sent sprawling backwards due to being punched in the face. Gatto is about to continue, haul him to his feet, but Sal is up on his own in an instant and wrestling him back. Mouth rests by his ear as best it can as he struggles against his grip, voice strained with his own heated temper.

"J–Joey, just stop, it's okay– take it easy–"

"He can't treat people like that, he can't– let go'a me!"

Vulcano wraps his arms tightly around his lover, holds him back from punching the waiter again as he slowly climbs to his feet, dazed and confused, blood trailing from his nose as he tries to pinpoint his attacker in the haze. By now, people are looking, breakfasts disturbed by the commotion, and Sal finds he's not embarrassed but strangely proud of the defence that he'd been granted with. To know Joe had been affronted enough to attack him for his evident discrimination sends a surge of affection through him, even though he's having to hold him back from continuing. One punch is enough, it gets the point across just perfectly: nobody disrespects my husband.

Eventually, Gatto's violent rage is reduced to spewing profanities at the retreating man and Sal isn't surprised when they're both shown out by the manager. He apologises profusely (though doesn't condone the physicality the situation had taken) and offers them breakfast completely free of charge.

Sal takes his hand. "You wanna...?"

"I'm not exactly hungry right now..." Joe mutters, eyes locked on his aching fist. He doesn't fight, resents the notion of getting physical in order to deal with somebody, but he'd lost his temper so completely with the rude treatment they'd received for nothing at all that he'd had no choice but to succumb to that burning desire to beat the shit out of him. Thankfully his husband had stopped him from following through with the entire thing... but that didn't make him any less vindictive in the hope that that bastard was fired on the spot.

Vulcano smiles sympathetically. "C'mon, baby... you know you can't resist pancakes with syrup. And hey, we won't be served by an asshole this time."

A tiny smile peeks on his other half's face at that, completely swept by the way his beard brushes against his cheek as he nuzzles in close to reassure him. Joe may hate the way he'd been treated, how they'd been treated, but his lover is right: he can't resist pancakes with syrup, and hedoesn't want to. He wants to go in there and eat breakfast with his husband, like he has so many other times before.

"Well... I guess you're right..." he mumbles, voice carrying to the floor and back again as Vulcano squeezes his shoulders tightly in reassurance. Slowly, Gatto picks up his gaze and nods his head, leaning in and pressing a quick kiss to Sal's nose. "...fuck it, it tastes even better when it's free."