Thanks to my friend Michael for the topic and setting suggestion.
NOTE: I owe you guys a bonus story. This one doesn’t “count” because I wasn’t able to get it under 295 words without shortchanging the story. So sometime in the next several days I’ll try to make it up by adding another. Enjoy.
It’s been fifteen minutes.
This has happened before. Like a player piano that gets halfway through a sweet old tune and then someone kicks on the mute, well, this is how it goes:
“Btw, can you send me a picture? I want to know you when I see you!”
He’s gotten good at delaying this moment. His digital camera is broken (of course) and he doesn’t really like the intrusiveness of the internet (naturally). He’s honest, but vague: “I don’t think anyone would really consider me to be a ‘looker.'” He doesn’t fall into that hypocritical trap of asking the ex-homecoming queen. He’s not interested, to be honest. He’s allowed to be a little discriminating, right? He maneuvers around the question. He sets up a time and a date. And then, when it’s past the “point of no return,” he finally sends a picture. What could go wrong? Nothing! Except this is the third time he’s been stood up.
It’s been thirty minutes, so he studies the menu again. He doesn’t understand why those mozzarrella sticks are almost as expensive as the oliveburger. Maybe he’ll go ahead and order them both. After all, it looks like he’s eating for two. He sees the shadow of his waitress on the table and hears her say something about his order, his night, and would he like some more coffee?
“Sure,” he says, and orders dinner. He gets the mozzarrella sticks. And the oliveburger. And why not, the key lime pie. The waitress sighs and returns to the kitchen. She blinks in the bright fluorescent glare, and puts the order up.
“How’d it go?” asks the cook.
“He didn’t seem to be paying attention,” she says. “Anyway, I’m not exactly a ‘looker,’ right?”