On Friday night I ate at a Mexican restaurant in Mt. Airy that's housed in an old building haunted by the ghost of a nine-year-old girl who fell down some steps while jumping rope and croaked back the old-timey past. She clearly never followed her mother's very reasonable advice. When asked if she'd ever encountered the ghost, the sad-eyed waitressed perked up. She said she'd only been working at the restaurant for eight months, but there had been some incidents. One involved the radio being turned off when they were playing reggae. Two possible conclusions: 1) The ghost girl is flat-out racist. 2) The waitress failed to mention they were playing dub reggae and the ghost is strictly roots. Other incidents involved broken glasses. Big deal, ghost, you need to up your game. Or, better yet, rather than being so petty, the ghost should help out the poor Mexicans in the kitchen by washing some goddamn dishes. The $3 an hour they're likely being paid was probably a fortune back in eighteen-dickety-do.