It’s a pretty busy Thursday afternoon, when the mild mannered man in a checkered, short sleeve button down shirt sits down. He is a bit heavy and has a thick greying mustache with head hair to match. He wore square glasses, and looked like a math teacher, or a not too successful accountant.
“How many people?” I ask, hoping it’s more than just him.
“It’s just me.” He says.
Shit.
He has a familiar beaten look to him. For some reason I know that this guy is not there to play.
“What do you want?” I ask.
“I’ll start with a Matzoh ball soup.” He says, reading the menu intently.
“Great.” I say, and hurry to get this dude his soup, so he can get the hell out of there as quickly as possible.
I get him his soup.
‘What else can I get you?’
‘I eat very slowly’ He says.
‘Can you bring me another bowl of this when I’m done?’
‘Sure’ I say.
This dude is gonna slowly eat soup alone at a six top? Jeez.
I monitor him while I’m working, and bring him his second bowl of soup with one bite remaining in the first one.
He looks at me with a death stare.
‘How aboot you bring me the second bowl, when I’m done with the first.’ He reveals himself.
‘Are you Canadian?’ I ask.
‘Yup.’ He answers.
Fucking Canadians…
