a Prologue? Part 1
So, today, unlike many other days, was a day in which I was going to indulge in a greasy, fattening, acid-reflux-inducing cheeseburger- Or was it?
I sigh, taking a look down at the red, tiled floor beneath me. Yeah, this fast-food-joint doesn’texactlyclean up the best, what with a few fries lining the tiles near the counter, or the sticky sounds that’d pop every time someone lifted their sneakers up off the hard, cold,indifferentstructure beneath all of us. This place’s got the mostamateurof staff on shift today, as well. But, whatever, yanno?
And I mean that, sincerely.Whatever.
Heh, I know my initial words here already sound like I’m complainin’ a bit, and that I don’t like the public, but I can’t say I’m a fan of all of the less-than-ritzy restaurants in this city.
Stretching the back of my arm, I turn to see a big ol’ man, with a poor excuse for a mustache riding up under his nose.
“Where’s the ketchup? Hello! I said, ’where’s thefuckingketchup’?”
Oh, boy. Aside from a poor excuse for a mustache, he’s also got one hell of a poor excuse for... manners. Heh!Yeah.
Come on man, can’t ya just smell the trees? Or, however that phrase goes. The wind all around us is pretty good right now, buddy. It’s a hellofa windy day, all things considered!
Hah, I know, I know. This place,Acadian, is a pretty rundown burger-joint, if I do say so myself, so I shouldn’t expect too much outta its fanfare. I’m not even the type to, normally, enjoy places like this. That said, I’malsonot the type to give people a hard time... whenIsimply can’t find where the ketchup is.
The way his fingers seem to jerk in his hand? Hm, and coupled with a splotch of a varicose vein on his elbow-crease, I’m betting that his anger and diet aren’t doin’ him too well.
Among the paper-machet lanterns hangin’ from the ceiling -- for the Fall, I guess --, the framed shirts on the walls, and booth after booth, I guess the only thing in a classic place like this -- thatreallystands out -- is that dusty, yellow jukebox.
An old hunk of technology, from a time long-forgotten, my eyes sized up the buttons on it. The gray, square buttons lit up from the touch, I’d remembered, and inside the glass-encasement -- almost like a claw-machine from an arcade -- sat a kind of book of almost records that the fanfare could flip through.
Did people even really like Elvis, anymore?
Nonetheless, my attention whipped back to the man, his fist banging on the counter, the waitress behind it -- bless her heart, honestly -- backing up against an ice-cream machine behind her.
It was at this same moment... that his attention had whipped tome.
Oh.
“Hey,kid! What’s so funny? Just standin’ there... lookin’ like a fuckin’idiot.”
I shut my eyes. Oh, boy, I really wish I could control -- and be more self-aware of, at that -- my own facial expressions. This entire time, I guess, my lips were perkin’ up,justthe right way, in perfect view of this fat, angry man -- height of six feet and four inches -- who’s now raisin’ his fist at me.
“To be honest sir,” I take my hand outta my pocket. “I was just here for a medium, soft drink. Probably a burger, too. A real gut-killer, they are. I don’t want any trouble.”
“Then why’re you snickerin’ at me, punk?” This damn guy sniffles a bunch, probably comin’ down from some sort of cold, as his cheeksarelookin’ a little yellow.
Hm, not my concern though. I mean, I’m not a doctor. I took on a... different... kind of ‘observant’ occupation.
“You know, pal, whenever I hear someone use the phrase, ‘not my animals, not my circus’... they usually are met with a casserole of laughter. However, asI’mabout to utilize that callous phrase myself, I can only imagine that you’re urge to punch me, right in the face, is only going to get bigger from here on out. Am I wrong?”
“Wh- Huh?” The man scratched at his hairy, tan cheek.
I shrugged. “I didn’t bother you today, sir.Youapproachedme. All I did was laugh, and, from the looks of things, I feel like you should be a bit more grateful. Look around! The employees and customers here are actually quite horrified of you. Iswearit was a bit more chatty in here a few minutes ago, until fee-fi-fo came stompin’ along. Heh, they all must be beside themselves wondering what to do with you. Escort you out safely... or get a harpoon and tranquilizer?”
The giant man cracked his knuckles, his face reddening further, yet froze in place. “WHYYOU!”
“Yeah, yeah, ‘why me, why me’. I get told that a lot. Alot. Like, wow. Like I said, I was just here for a drink. A medium, soft drink, might I add. And I don’t know you, nor are your ‘tantrumy performances’ any of my concern. So, as I said I was going to say before- Not my animals, not my circus.”
As the person in front of me picked up a brown tray with wrapped food over it, I yawned. Walking up, I waved at the clerk. Shrugging, I shook my head.
The man’s gaze, red-hot, continued to stare me down, until the weight of the humiliation sent him speed-walking off in a huff.
“Howdy-do? A medium lemonade, please. Oh, and, since I guess I came all this way, could I get the Pickle Surprise? I’ve heard it’s the one with the pickles baked into the bun. Oof, can’t wait tonotlike that one. Haha. Kidding, kidding.”
Man, I’ve never had a more unpleasant lunch experience! Hopefully I can make it back to university in time.
That’s right- As of the past week, I’m just your run-of-the-mill student at a local college, anddefinitelynot an undercover-cop, or anything. I mean, THAT’D just be silly, right?
