“A Night Inside-Out”

We press on and continue our day. There we found the restaurant that we made reservations for earlier. My watch says we were right on time, I love being punctual. I open the door for her and check myself out in the reflection of the glass door. Everything was in place, every hair on my head, and every weave in my suit. I had to look nice, today was too important. Today would change my life.

My alligator shoes step on a carpet that feels even more expensive, and more comfortable than my shoes. I fix my tie if not just for the action of fixing a tie. There is an appeal to a man who fixes his tie after the fact. Rebellious in a way, the last act out a guy can do in an upper class environment. It also grabs her attention. She knows I can’t properly fix a tie regardless of how many times I pretend to do it. We stand there keeping the hostess at bay while my tie gets all the attention.

There it is, waiting for us, our table. The only empty table left in the building with two glasses of complementary water, I’ll probably need both. She finishes with my tie and we move on to take our seats. Weaving our way through the crowd it felt like all eyes fell on me. They see me pull out her chair for her as she sits down, and view me slip a ten to the hostess. I made sure she could see that too. Pulling up my chair, I browse the menu with the utmost interest though I’m not actually reading it. With an evening like this, I refuse to be stumped with what to order, but I couldn’t lose the standard dinner conversation opener.

“So, what will you be having honey?” I asked questionably staring at my dish with a raised brow.

The overly enthusiastic hostess interrupts with her list of the specials. I smile all the same assuming this would hasten her decision anyway. Again, playing dinner coy I listen intently to her rattling off the specials, none of which were all that special. It is strange to hear a special of what essentially is chicken noodle soup, unless it’s made from the chicken that survived the Colonel. I even went so far as to ask questions about the specials. I glance to her now and then while talking with the hostess. She notices my charm and allure. I finish my charade by asking, “Could you bring the waiter, I believe we’re ready to order.”

She left as happily as she greeted us earlier, she has strange teeth though. I shudder at the thought. Reaching my hand out for her menu I confidently say, “I’ll order for you dear.” She passes the menu and smiles to herself, a much more refreshing grin than the one I experienced earlier.

There is an odd silence between us amongst our robust surroundings. Tapping my fingers on the menus waiting for the waiter so I could reveal my master plan, she still smiles at me strangely. My charm is staggering to say the least, but did not merit such a reaction. I began moving my tongue around my teeth checking to see if anything lies on the surface of them. Nothings there. I start breathing out of my nose to check for a misplaced nose hair. Feeling the wind pass over them, they could not be viewed.

Yet her smile remained. It stayed there on her face, as if mocking me. Her hand rose and pointed at me confirming the joke. Sweat forms on my brow. I held back the anger. Her hand gestures again and I finally got the hint. Turning around I could see the waiter making his way to our table. His head bobs up and down just over the level of the tables he passes by. I attempt to hold back my laughter and snickering. Both came out at once as the waiter made his stop. By all accounts, my face should be red, but he really looks funny. His mustache reminds me he’s not actually a child. Even so, it’s difficult to stretch the imagination.

Pen and pad in hand the tiny man clears his throat to calm me down and get my order. As respectfully as I could be, I gave him the order, “A porterhouse steak with the meat still red, and the barbecue chicken for the lady.” She glares at me ever so slightly. Catching myself I continue, “A mild barbecue sauce please.” She nods approvingly.

“It will be done sir,” the waiter responds taking his leave. He disappears behind the rows of tables. She rolls her eyes at me disapprovingly.

Her smile fades away and I’m caught trying to make up for my mistake. She’s perturbed to say the least. It’s her own fault; she pointed him out causing me to bust out laughing at the sight. I mean really, who hires a midget waiter? My steak will end up being as big as he is. A smile grew on my face just thinking about it, but I grunted and covered my face holding it back. I moved to fix my tie again.

The grunt causes me to cough a bit. Hopefully that will distract her attention away from my earlier misdeed. It does and she passes me her glass of water, mine seems to have evaporated. I don’t even remember drinking it. I guzzle down her glass leaving only the ice in the bottom. A burp moves up my throat but I force it back down.

I take time out to observe the prestigious restaurant. For the money I’m paying, the sights do not disappoint. There is a light golden shine wherever I look backed by red table cloths in the old wooden interior. The glare on my eyes reminds me of when I wake up and can’t quite see. It would almost be obtrusive if it isn’t so pretty to look at.

I unraveled my napkin to see the silverware. It is as elegant as everything else is here. I’ll bet half the bill goes into keeping this place in line. There is not a water spot or smudge to be seen on the forks and spoons. I line up all the silverware; there is a lot of it here. Forks for fish, salad, and some I could only assume were spares. The same went for the spoons and knives. I try to put them back together but it proves to be quite the puzzle. She laughs at my struggle. I smile back though annoyed I’m being made a fool of.

She loses interest and begins to view the restaurant as I did. I give up on the puzzle and lay my red napkin over them to camouflage my blunder. Her distractions buy me some time to come up with something to talk about before dinner arrives. Of all the things I planned for this night, a conversation was something I thought I could wing. Another mistake to tally up. Well, let’s see, her hair looks nice. She spent quite a bit of time on it, I can tell. Her dress is nice as well, nothing very fancy just a plain black dress. But she doesn’t want to hear me gush over her. She knows she looks amazing. Her mirror is an extension of her left hand; she’s never without it. Pointing out the obvious would be boring and make me sound desperate.

This is frustrating. It’s not as if we have much in common. She would hate for me to drone on about the stock market and statistics I surround myself in on a day to day basis. I would hate to hear about…whatever it is she does. The good weather would be a cliché thing to discuss. It may just be my ticket out of this mess.

She’s still looking around. I can do better than that. There are discussions going on around me. I lean in and pay more attention.

There is a fat old man sitting with a beady-eyed woman who looks to be ten years older than he is. They couldn’t possibly have anything interesting to discuss. Worse yet, I have to put up with their banter between bites. Their food smells marvelous. But I have to focus on what they’re saying.

“I agree, but it’s still relatively the same as last year around this time,” the fat guy says before swallowing his bite of lobster.

“Are you sure? I can’t seem to remember,” says the woman squinting at what appeared to be the tables’ center piece. But I think she is aiming for the fat guy. Hard to miss.

“Your memory isn’t what it used to be. I’m telling you it’s the same and there’s no cause for concern.” Holding his fork arced over him, he drips butter on his suit, and I don’t think he notices.

“Maybe you’re right dear. I’m just an old worry wart.”

“It’s good to keep up on these things. They are important regardless.”

Come on; get to the point old man.

“Besides hon, we’ll be long gone before we feel the effects of global warming.”

They can’t seriously be talking about-

“-You’re right, we’ll have good weather till the end of our days.” They cheer themselves with their glasses and I look to the ceiling in disgust.

Overwhelming frustration came over me and I blurt a mild yell. Realizing quickly I’m making a scene, at the climax of the yell, I fake a sneeze.

“That’s quite a sneeze you have there friend,” the fat man blurts covering me in the remains of his chewed food. “Are you coming down with something?”

With a snide tone, “Yeah, it must be the weather.”

I ignore the rest of the man’s ramblings. Doing my best to return to the dinner we are supposed to be having. I scan the restaurant to search for our midget. Noticing my inspection, she attempts to find him as well. I give up looking for him and change my sights on some floating plates, or a flying cooked chicken assuming he’d be camouflaged by the tables as he moves.

I could see nothing but the sights of others eating. She shrugs at me coming up with nothing as well. She couldn’t find him anyway. She’s the type who loses her glasses as they rest on the top of her head, and then has the gall to say they were in the last place she looked. Sure is pretty though.

Come to think of it, a lot of people are eating. I became hard pressed to find anyone without a plate. It has been a while since we ordered. We don’t even have appetizers yet. This is irritating. The sights and smells of others food aggravated me further.

Honey roasted ham served with sweet potatoes and a small corn on the cob on the side. Salmon surrounded by luscious greens with their mild marquee sauce of the day. Shrimp everywhere I look aside from the one with the white apron. Large bowls of salad made for the healthiest of meals. I am drooling over salad? This is getting bad.

The awkward silence I’ve forced myself into makes this undesirable moment even more detrimental. This is killing the mood. Around us sounds of forks hitting plates, knives cutting food, people talking about unintelligible topics of which I could only assume is the weather. And here at our miserable excuse of a table in the center of it all, silence. It’s driving me mad. If we only had the food, the night could continue.

I couldn’t bear to sit any longer without knowing what status our food is in. “Excuse me,” I say, as dignified, as possible without letting the entire restaurant know that I should be excused.

In my frustrated state, I fail to push in the chair as smoothly as I would like but it does make its way under the table. Watching the floor beneath me to make sure I didn’t tackle our waiter, I head toward the kitchen. Navigating my way through the sea of red tables makes me feel as though I’m in a rat maze heading for the cheese. Ironically, our appetizer is supposed to be fondue.

Every chair leg and table that stood in my way I trip on, kick, or stagger around flailing about in a dance of clumsy chaos. I felt stupid, but what idiot puts these things so close together? This is probably why they hired the midget. It makes perfect sense now.

My calamity garners me the attention of most of the restaurant. Laughter and obscene gestures follows my journey to the kitchen. I am within seconds of relieving my frustrations on those around me when I come to my senses and hold it in for the chefs. Inches separate me from the man in the big white hat, when my hand is stopped from reaching the door by our friendly neighborhood hostess.

“Excuse me sir, you can’t go in there,” her smile is ludicrously fake, but her grip is strong.

I have two options now. I could play dumb and walk away, or I could use her as a battering ram to open the door. Choice B. sounds brutal, but it has its advantages. Perhaps I’m being over dramatic. Dinner should come soon, and I have more important things to worry about. Her grip loosens and I fix my suit.

Looking up over the archway of the door acting as though I’ve missed something, “Oh, I’m sorry; I thought this was the men’s room.”

“That’s okay sir, the bathroom is on the other side,” she says pointing behind me. This time her smile seems genuine, probably motivated by my stupidity. I turn around with the last shred of dignity remaining on this night. I’d lose that if I didn’t go to the bathroom. She’s playing with the ice in my glass not noticing me, so I swing around in a wide arc behind her vision toward the lavatory.

There is a nice path to move around the tables, and I make it there in no time. This will help me cool off and kill some time. The food will be on the table before I get out.

Everything here is in perfect order. For a bathroom, it smells like a garden, that’s irritating. Nothing is out of place. There is so much here for a bathroom. A towel man stands at the door, a lotion man is positioned by the sink, candles light the room, and everything shines with a glossy cleanliness that would seem almost impossible in a bathroom. If I didn’t know better, the toilets could pee for me.

I walk into a stall and close the door unsure of what I’m going to do. Most of the time, this would be obvious. I guess I could try; I did drink quite a bit of water. The toilet reflected the candle light giving off a mirage of a sparkling cosmos contained within the white porcelain. These must be buffed constantly. It seems they spend more time on bathroom decor then they do making the food.

Lowering my zipper, I take aim at the bowl. Nothing came. There’s nothing worse than feeling the breeze of the air conditioning. I begin to get bored and my mind strays. I hear two other men talking at the urinals. An odd place to strike up a conversation, but I listened in just the same.

“Say, were you the guy that rushed into the kitchen?”

The other man responds, “Yeah, that was me.” He sounds almost embarrassed.

“Wow that took guts. I wouldn’t be able to do that.”

I began to laugh to myself. It seems the chefs already got what’s coming to them.

“Yeah, well someone had to take charge.”

Yeah, I wish that could have been me. He is actually being admired for his brash actions. Here I thought justice was only accepted on TV anymore.

“I heard a lot of noise, did anyone get hurt?”

Hurt? This guy went a tad too far.

“No, he left angry, but he left alive. It’s a sad time when people have to beg for food in a place like this,” he says rather philosophically.

“I agree.”

The sinks turned on as they washed their hands. I am left empty in my four walled fortress knowing it was nothing more than a hobo attack. Shaking off nothing, I zip up and flush the toilet to save face. It would look foolish to be in a stall for so long and not have done anything.

Eager to wash my hands to see if our table has been served, I rush the wash and avoid the towel boy all together.

“Sir?” He says stopping me. He must really care about moist hands. Yes, the plague of the world is wet hands. May they be purged from this world for humanities sake.

Drying my hands on his towel, I found myself slamming my hands into it in frustration. What nerve this towel boy must have. I have every right to ignore him if I choose.

My hands soon become so dry, I want to wash them again. Instead, I put on a fake smile and walk out the door. My fake smile pales in comparison to the hostesses’. She could teach me a few things.

Too eager to walk calmly to my table to see if the food arrived, I scan the sea of red tables to find ours. I find it, and I find it empty. Unless we ordered a large bowl of tomato soup that covers our tabletop. As I reach our table, I find that it’s just the tablecloth. Well it isn’t completely empty; she’s still sitting there with a bored look on her face. Her hand rested below her chin holding it up to stay awake.

Before sitting down I search for the midget. He actually has become a leprechaun to me now, mysterious and hard to catch. When I do, my wish will be granted so help me.

The hostess is making her rounds for quality checks I assume. I see my chance to complain coming my way. I wait for her seething in my anger over my calm facade. She notices. Staring at my silverware, not looking across from me, I can just tell. She doesn’t bother me like this, she knows better.

The hostess nears our table and I gather my thoughts. I’d hate to rant at her without direction or coherency. It’s bad enough I’m going to chew her out. As my thoughts trail so do my eyes and I see her across from me, not giving me a glance. I’ve made her uncomfortable. She knows I’m upset. This was supposed to be a perfect night. Nothing was supposed to go wrong, but they are going wrong. I refuse to be the cause of a failed evening though.

My emotions are torn. She’s one table over and I want to get up and yell at her. I need to do or say something but I don’t want to startle her. She is here with me now and I don’t want to jeopardize that. Maybe I could just throw a spoon at the hostess when she’s not looking.

Instinct took over as the hostess reached our table with her clipboard and upbeat attitude.

“How is everything?” she asks. What an idiotic question. We have no food, how can we determine how anything is going?

That set me off. “We do not have any food yet. We’ve been here for nearly an hour without even an appetizer. How do you think everything is?”

I break her happy care-free mood just enough to see she is human. “Have you seen your waiter?”

“Yes, he took our order and disappeared.”

“What was his name?”

She begins to answer for me, but I cut her off, and I don’t feel all that proud of it, “It was the midget.” Getting that out makes me feel better.

“You didn’t get his name?” she replies snidely.

“How many midgets do you have on staff? Are there midget cooks? Can they not reach the ingredients?”

The hostess collects herself, “I’m sure he’s busy sir.”

“He’s busy alright, busy making cookies for the Keebler elves,” I mumble to myself, still making sure she hears it. “I’d like a new waiter.” That sounds reasonable.

“I’m sorry sir, we’re fully staffed as it is, and this section is meant only for the waiter assigned to it. It would confuse the chefs as well as our waiters if we changed the order of things now.”

I stare at the melted ice in my glass as if it were the last remains of sustenance on earth. Drinking it down like a shot, I offer it up to the hostess, “Can I get a glass of water?”

Taking the glass, “I’ll find your waiter sir.”

She leaves a tad distraught by the encounter. I tried. Across the table, the reaction is similar. This night could not get any worse. The incompetence in this restaurant is staggering. How could this happen? Everything was so well planned. I pictured food, a clever and charming waiter to a point where I still looked better. Most of all I pictured the elegant woman across from me to be mine. That can still happen.

I went to my right jacket pocket only to feel my own suit. At first, I thought maybe I missed. Continuing to pad myself down, the item still could not be found. I prod around my other pockets still coming up empty. After a time it looks as though there are bugs on me and I’m battling them. I stop. It is official this night is ruined.

My head looks around on its own. Going from table to table, my eyes search for anything suspicious. They are having desert now. We are having water. But this poor man’s dinner is far less expensive than what I lost. What I lost? No, my head continues to find the culprit. It’s the only explanation.

I bumped a lot of people on the way to the kitchen, so my head leads my eyes in that direction. They couldn’t find anything. This is worthless. This night has gone down in flames and I have nothing left to put it out, or brace its fall. All of my contingency plans revolved around having food at the very least.

I lost it, and knew I lost it. I let it happen. Standing up to address the restaurant, I left my sanity behind to enjoy this plight. “Alright that’s it I’ve had it! Who took it? Was it you fat ass? You’ve had three chickens and now a desert that for all I know is a chocolate covered chicken. Leave the damn poultry alone!”

The hostess approaches, “You know what, forget it. I don’t care who took it. Where’s my midget? Where’s he hiding? Is he lost? Did he accidentally get thrown in the deep friar and was served to another table? I’d like a deep fried midget, that doesn’t sound so bad really. At least then, we’d get an appetizer!

“The lighting in here makes me feel like I’m between life and death. The tables are too close together. The bathrooms smell unrealistically clean and yet plagued with snotty towel boys.

“I spent days planning this so everything would go right. If I had known better, I would have asked that our meals were ready when we got here.”

Breathing steadily now, all eyes on me, and this time, it wasn’t in my head. They stop eating. They stop talking about the weather. Some stand up and leave. Others ask for their check. Here I stand waiting for an answer as if I were Job talking to God, if, of course, God was an ugly hostess with rotting teeth.

“Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to leave,” she says without smiling.

“That’s fine. I can’t stand another minute here, we’re leaving.”

“We?” she responds.

She’s gone she left me. I can’t blame her. I push in my chair and make my way toward the door. Avoid eye contact avoid the stares. They didn’t care. They probably see me as the guy that ruined their night. That suites me just fine, someone had to do it.

Outside, I loosen my tie. For all the effort I put into my tie, in one pull it is no more than cloth around my neck. My suit is ruffled and I don’t bother to fix it. I unbutton that top button that creates the death grip around my neck.

I lost everything. My ring is gone, she left me, and my stomach is empty. Well I could fix the last one I still have my wallet. There is a fast food place just down the street.

On my way, I encounter a lowly man on the side of a building nearby the restaurant. Standing over him he doesn’t move, doesn’t look up at me. His face is light, very pale. I bend down to get a better look. His cheekbones penetrate his skin. He’s all but gone, barely breathing. This man couldn’t weigh more than eighty pounds. Sprawled out on the sidewalk, still in an upright position he could go at any minute.

I notice his arms, nothing more than bone. In his right hand, I see a rolled up poster of some kind. Upon closer inspection, I see it is a menu. The menu of the restaurant I just stormed out of. I laugh instantly. How ironic, he didn’t get any food from them either.

The fast food place is about to close so I hurry on my way there. I’ll look back on this night and laugh for sure…