The hash browns were good; inside of them were soft, and the outside crispy. Unfortunately the employees were just as crispy. They had an edge on them, sharper than the knife I used to cut the sausage patties I ordered. Our waitress gave me anxiety- I literally took my clonazepam at the restaurant. She talked to us super quietly, at about 1,000 mph. The specials? Couldn't tell you because we don't know what the hell she said. So we ate fast, drank our strawberry lemonade (that was regular lemonade with red dye... I don't know either) and took our check to the front. The girl at the front had a cute sweater on, but her math skills weren't that cute. We asked her to split the bill but she said "you need to do your own math." Uh okay. So we pull out our calculators and figure it out, then tell the girl with the cute sweater how to charge us. Good thing we all have iPhones; I don't know what the poor girl would've done if we didn't figure it out. We dodged the hoard of homies blocking the front door and safely made it to the car (granted, we had front row parking)! We left full, but confused and a little traumatized.