It's the End of the World As We Know It

But I feel fine. Munch is another story. It turns out he went to this swanky restaraunt to treat himself - he claims that nobody can truly enjoy an overpriced meal unless they eat alone, because otherwise, there's too much pressure to enjoy yourself - and while he doesn't bat his eye at a $8 scoop of ice cream served in a martini glass, the appetizer was too much, even for him.

"Twenty. Dollars. For a [expletive deleted] pretzel!" He was still incoherent with rage three days later.
"Must've been some pretzel, then, hunh?"
"How would I know? I didn't stoop to their level! I'm not falling for their designer snack food! That's what's wrong with this city - no, this country, hell with it, this is the downfall of western civilization."
"It's just a preztel, John." I shouldn't have said that.
"That's the whole point! Don't you see..." That's when I held the phone away from my ear for awhile. I disticntly heard the phrases "marxist economics," "grey aliens" and "cuba libre" - I didn't ask why. I sat there for twenty mintues, and when I heard, "automat," I knew he was winding down, so I told him I'd talk to him tomorrow.
The worst part is, I'm not sure I got the name of the restaraunt, and now I really wanna try this pretzel. I mean, for $20? That's gotta be some pretzel, right?