"Don't worry, Dexter, I'll take care of these gentlemen." Another waiter, also new, came to our table. He got out a notepad and started writing. "How are you today, King?"
"Exhausted and injured like you don't know how."
Either he ignored what I said or he was too dumb to recognize sarcasm, because he said, "How would you like to try…"
"Actually, could you just bring me a glass of water first?" I mean, after the experience I'd just had my body was exhausted. And besides, my throat started feeling parched and my tongue even burned a little.
The waiter ignored me and said, "How would you like to try our new lime-flavored frozen yogurt?"
"No, thank you. I just want water. Now, if you'll kindly…" he didn't even let me finish. You know what he did? He grabbed me by the jaw with one hand, and forced a spoon of that lime frozen yogurt with the other hand.
The cold substance lodge itself in my throat and with my airway blocked, I started choking. I coughed loudly and pointed at my throat. These people don't get any kind of a hint. He seemed perfectly normal, not aware that their King was choking thanks to him.
Instead, he said, "How about our new Spicy-Chile Frozen Yogurt?"
Oh, no! Not that! I'm choking, you darn fool! Can't you see? Bring me some water! Of course I didn't yell all this because...well, like I said, I was suffocating on some stupid frozen yogurt. So I resorted to yelling at him in my mind.
Of course he didn't get the hint. Before you could say, "Spider Goulash" he grabbed my face again and forced a huge spoon of that spicy yogurt. My eyes started stinging and the tears felt like acid. My tongue went on fire and I could feel the insides of my mouth screaming in pain and my taste buds incinerating.
Therefore, my next reaction was completely impulse and reflex. I struck the waiter with my fist. Not two seconds later, several guards appeared and pinned me to the floor. By now everyone had gotten quiet and was observing what was happening.
Some people were murmuring and a few were taking pictures with their phones and their tablets. (Kind of ironic, isn't it? Kids with modern technology in an old-fashioned restaurant.) I sure hope they didn't have friends or family in the press. The last thing I needed now was a news scandal of some sort.
A man who seemed in his late 30s walked out of the kitchen. He had an assistant's manager uniform. He walked over to us as the guards picked me up and held me tightly by the forearms. "Why, hello King. How are you today?" he asked.
Sometimes it's best not to say anything.
"Let go of me!" I shouted at the guards. Once released from their iron grip (a bruise formed, by the way in case you're interested) and I turned my attention to the man. His name tag said "Han." Well, he sure wasn't related to Han Solo, I'll tell you that much.
"How would you like to try our new exotic fruit sodas?"
How would you like to have your place shut down? Before I could even finish that thought, can you guess what happened? Right. He shoved fruit soda down my gullet. All right, I'd had it!
I pushed him away and yelled, "Will everyone please stop shoving food down my throat? Why do you think I have hands for?" It was my darn luck that just as I was finishing that sentence, a stupid fly somehow managed to…
Well, long story short, a fly got lodged in my throat and I started wheezing and coughing again. I yelled for water. Finally someone reacted! Larry came running with a cup of water. For a minute I thought the water seemed funny. But all I cared about was getting water down my throat to soothe all the irritation imposed on it.
When it hit my taste buds, I was reminded of the time I was six and I accidently swallowed a penny. Nothing happened, nothing serious. My parents and my doctor scolded me and they had to give me a tablespoon of pure olive oil every day.
Ugh! It was so unpleasant. But why did this water remind me of…then, when I felt the liquid touching the inside of my throat, I noticed the unmistakable, and disgusting reminder of olive fields.
I spit it…or tried to anyways, with some of it drooping over my lower lip. "Yech! What kind of water is this?"
Larry quickly shook his head. "I don't know. It doesn't mix with this other water!" He pointed at the cup. I observed it more closely. The bottom half was clear, pure water. The upper half was light yellow and did not mix with the water. And in the middle, was a dark green divider.
"This is oil, you stupid jerk! You gave me oil to drink!"
His eyes became saucers and he said, "Oops. Heh heh. Now, Spiny, remember your image!"
My vision turned red and I felt my blood starting to boil. Larry ran towards the kitchen, figuring that I wouldn't chase him in there since there was a sign that said Employees Only. Ha! He was about to get a nasty surprise.
I ran behind him, not about to let him get away easy. Yeah, sure he was likely to beat me up and humiliate me, but at least I'd try to. And maybe, as in other occasions he'd have the decency to let me beat him.
It's embarrassing to say this but…well, somehow, some of that oil was on the floor and I slipped and…just at that moment, another waiter was coming out with a hot cinnamon-cherry pie.
You can guess what happened next right?
No, I didn't get hit in the pie with the face. I mean, uh, I didn't get hit in the face with the pie. I did slip backwards and struck my head on the floor which sent everything spinning and the jarring sensation went all the way down my spinal cord.
And since my leg was extended out on the floor, by simple law of physics including motion and force and inertia, the waiter stopped moving and came crashing down. Let me tell you, the force caused by a falling 140-pound waiter on your leg is enough to let out a true scream of pain.
But, because of the law of physics, the pie kept moving, like a UFO sailing through the air. Only it didn't crash into a desert in New Mexico. This one crash-landed right into a girl's face. Smack! And of course it was still hot and the cinnamon got in her nose and eyes so you can imagine what that felt like.
"AH! Help! Somebody! Get this gunk off my face!" Fortunately for her, Al and Arnold, the owners were wise enough to place a water hose inside. Like the ones firefighters use. Larry ran out of who-know-where and unfolded the hose. Then another guy twisted the knob and high-pressurized water shot out of the hose.
I don't think that water flying all over the place and Larry getting lifted into the air and flying along with the hose was what the girl had on mind when she yelled for water. The hose was finally turned off.
Everyone and I mean everyone and everything was dripping wet, even the, uh…money. And the notepad. The only ones spared were the waiters and the cooks who were in the kitchen. And Arnold. And Al. Wherever they were.
"Ahem, yes, well…" said Han. He grabbed a napkin and started drying himself, in vain. Surprisingly, I was dry also. Maybe because I'd been lying on the ground, oil still all over my mouth and the headache which was now fading.
I grabbed onto an empty stool and forced myself up. The girl who'd been attacked by the freak hose was now a frozen, dripping, red-faced, waterlogged statue. "My…my makeup! You ruined my makeup!" She stared murderously at Larry.
Showing no sign of sanity or good judgement, Larry blurted out, "That's not all that's messed up. You should look at your hair."
She growled at him and ran outside.
"Come back soon!" said Han as she almost knocked down the doors. Mental note: tell Arnold to install automatic doors.
I would face-slap myself, but I was afraid that something worse would happen. No, really. There's no telling what would happen. I was afraid to even breathe! But there was something I could do.
"I want to speak to the owners! Where's Arnold?" I demanded to Han.
"He's in the bathroom."
"He's where?"
He raised his eyebrow and placed his hand on his hips. "He's got necessities too, you know."
Yeah, I know. Everyone does. Let's not get talking about that. Much less in a restaurant. And remember, you haven't been given water. I guess Han interpreted my thoughtful look as an annoyed one because he went over to the door of the boy's restroom and knocked on it.
"Hey, Arnold!"
"What is it?" Arnold responded, in his noticeable Chinese accent.
"There's a crazy guy out here that wants to see you!"
"What?!" I grabbed Han by the scruff of his uniform and pulled him closer. "What did you say? Who's the crazy guy?"
"Uh…uh. No, that's not what I mean."
"Be right there, Spiny!" Arnold yelled.
Great! That's just what I needed. "Thanks a lot, Arnold!" I yelled back.
"For what?"
"Nothing. Forget it." I let go of Han. "Now, say you serve my friend and me some food. That's what we came; not to make a circus."
He nodded. "Yes, sir." Larry and I returned to our booth as everyone went back to their business. The music turned back on and the cooks got back to…well, cooking. What else? Anyways, Han came to our table.
"Since all the trouble, I'll personally take care of you two. What would you like, Your Majesty?"
"Yes, well." I grabbed the new menu again and read through it carefully. "I'll have the dark-chocolate soda, the new Vanilla-Apple-Vanilla smoothie, the Regular Triple-Meat Burger, and large fries."
He was still writing when he said, "Okay and would you…"
Larry butted in and said, "I'll have three large hot dogs."
"Excuse me, I don't want…" I tried to say something but Mr. Jabberjay kept interrupting.
"Chili cheese, please."
"I don't want…"
"I want one of your new fruit sodas. Any flavor is okay."
"I don't want onions on my…"
"And I want a small slice of that same pie the girl ruined."
"WILL YOU SHUT UP AND LET ME TALK, PLEASE?!"
He turned on me and yelled, "NO!"
I placed my hand on his jaw to keep it shut. "No onions on my burger!" I said quickly. Just in time when Larry let himself loose and said, "Put extra onions on my hot dogs."
"Okay, got it. That'll be $42.20." He handed me the check. I grabbed my wallet and handed him the exact amount. He smiled mischievously and returned to the kitchen.
"Spiny."
"What is it?"
"You don't pay taxes, you nitwit!"
"What are you talking about?"
"That total. That's not that total for you! That would've been $40. He's charging you taxes." HUH?! I whirled around and saw Han finishing at another table and returning to the kitchen. I jumped out of the seat and grabbed him just before he left.
"What's the idea?" He turned around to see. "Oh, um, yes?"
"All right. Hand it back." I stuck out my hand, palm-up. He didn't even bat and eyelash. "Hand what back?" he said.
"Don't make me bring out the guards."
He just stared blankly. Then he handed the dirty dishes he was handling to someone else. He reached into his pocket and placed something in my hand. Two $1 Amarkian dollar bills and twenty cents. "You can't blame a guy for trying."
As I sat down again, waiting for our order I thought to myself Oh, yes you can.