Steven did not like being made a fool of. He did not like to be singled out, to be made
an example of, as it were. He could not shake
the feeling that this was precisely what was happening to him right now. His companions were oblivious. They were too engaged in some inane
conversation about how so and so was dating what’s his name, Steven fumed. There was a conspiracy afoot. He was sure of it.
They had not
seen their waiter in some time. That lying,
grinning, harlequin with the ill-fitting tie had disappeared into an abyss
somewhere in the kitchen. Usually,
Steven would not care if the goon took his loud guffawing and terrible puns and
disappeared from his life completely.
Sadly, Steven needed something from him.
The other
one came by. But this one seemed only
capable of imbecilic greetings and offers of water. He didn’t want more water dammit, couldn’t
they see that? They were surely trying
to drown him. Like Noah he was, except he
was floating in a sea of idiocy. He
picked at his food. He had lost his
appetite early and did not have the desire to try and force this overcooked slop
down his throat. He feared he would
starve to death sitting here, waiting.
His friends
laughed at something else. He did not
care to know what. They were not truly
his friends anyway. They were people he
tolerated when he wanted people to think he cared about going out and being
social. The truth is, he did,
mostly. But times like this, when they
were at the mercy of some unseen antagonist who for all Steven know had fallen through
a worm hole somewhere behind the bar, these were the times he hated people.
The lack wit
came by again, trying to give Steven more water. Steven sighed and acquiesced. They would hound him endlessly if he
continued to resist. He might as well
accept his fate at this point. He would
never leave this restaurant alive. This kitschy
theme diner would be his tomb. Steven
did know one thing for certain. That
waiter would not be getting a tip.
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