“Uh, table for one please.”
“Very well Sir, take your pick, as you see, we aren’t busy. You’ll find each table has its own very distinctive view of the room…”
“Oh, right, er - how about that one over there by the window…?”
“Sorry sir, that one’s black people only.”
“Huh…?”
“For Black people. Only.”
“Okay, the one by the plant in the corner will be fine then.”
“That’s the women’s table. You’re not a woman are you sir…?”
“No, I’m not a woman, pff, this one here…?”
“Homosexuals”
“Jesus Christ ! Okay, look, I’m hungry, I’m gay, gay as they come I sing ABBA classics in the shower and shave my pubes into a heart-shape - okay - satisfied…? Can I siddown now…?”
“Of course… Alfonse…!”
“Who’s Alfonse…?”
“My gay waiter… If you’d just be so good as to give him a blow-job I’ll seat you right away Sir.”
“Blow-Job…?”
“Blow-job.”
“Gree-ate, look, that table, the one near the aquarium.”
“Are you a believer Sir…?”
“I’m a Christian I suppose, CofE.”
“But do you believe Sir…? Do you have Christ in your heart…? Are you totally convinced of the existance of God…?”
“Look, I go to the carols at Christmas, and I prayed last year once when my Mother was ill… Does that qualify…?”
“Not by a long shot Sir.”
“The green table…?”
“Atheists.”
“The blue one…?”
“Uma Thurman’s”
“She comes here…?”
“Not yet sir. Still, that remains the only table she can sit at.”
“Oh for pity’s sake - where can I sit…? Why are you looking up…?”
“You could try that one…”
“The one on the ceiling…?”
“The one on the ceiling. That’s free.”
“What am I supposed to do…? Levitate up there…?”
“Not a levitator then Sir…? Oh well, I live in hope.”
“JUST GIVE ME A TABLE.”
“Of course Sir, Right away Sir - Here Sir, generic table for white-heterosexual-middle-aged-male-wannabe-agnostic-fence-sitters.”
“Fine, just fine, whatever, can I have the menu please…?”
“There you are sir. Could I recommend the Egg and Chips Sir…? It’s what everyone else is having…”
“That’s not very authentic Indian, is it…?”
“Well, if I may observe Sir, Sir isn’t a very authentic Indian either Sir, is Sir…?”
“Just gimme the damn menu, I can order for myself.”
“Of course you can Sir.”
“Waiter…? The first page is blank…”
“No it’s not.”
“Yes it is.”
“You can’t see unaided in infra-red sir…? How odd.”
“And this page is written in… What is it written in for God’s sake…?”
“Fluent Arabic Sir.”
“Well, shit, okay, I’ll have a dot-dot-squiggle-flourish please.”
“Very well, sir, if you could tell me what a ‘dot-dot-squiggle-flourish’ is, I’ll have one made straight away.”
“You mean you don’t know what this is…?”
“No sir.”
“What about the cook, he must know.”
“As far as I know sir, no-one in this restaurant speaks or understands Arabic Sir.”
“So I can’t have it…?”
“It would appear not Sir.”
“I’ll have the house special.”
“Excellent choice Sir. Hmm, if I might be so bold as to enquire as to Sir’s financial circumstances…?”
“Why, how much is it…?”
“768,000,000 Pounds-Stirling Sir.”
“Holy Toledo!!!”
“Indeed, perhaps something a little more suited to your pocket Sir…?”
“I’ll have this then, the one in the picture.”
“Very good Sir, I’ll leave you to it then.”
“Excuse me - where’s my food, it’s been half an hour…?”
“Right there Sir.”
“Where…?”
“There.”
“But that’s just the picture you asshole…!”
“No Sir, that’s two-dimensional food.”
“I can’t eat 2D food…!”
“Shall I cancel your order then Sir…?”
“Oi…! - The menu’s numbers go up to 100, but there are only 70 entries…”
“Food yet to be invented Sir. We plan to write them in ASAP.”
“What’s with the question-mark at 33…?”
“Ahh.”
“‘Ahh’…?”
“I’m visualizing 33 Sir, concentrate.”
“Look - I’m not a bloody mind-reader you know…”
“What’s a Chrono-curry…?”
“Oh, a splendid choice Sir, and one of the Chef’s specials I might add, passed down through the centuries…”
“Okay. I’ll have that.”
“Er - you may have the wait a little, it’s quite a complex dish.”
“What the hell, how long…?”
“160 years Sir.”
“Okay - Look I’m starving here, I’ll just have the Chicken Balti.”
“Of course Sir. May I remind Sir that I am married and have a young child…?”
“Why…?”
“You wish to have the Chicken Balti, don’t you Sir…?”
“Yes.”
“Oh well, here, try to make it quick Sir.”
“What do you want me to do with this dagger…?”
“Well, to have the Chicken Balti… Sir will have to kill me Sir.”
“What in all the Saints’ names…? I can’t do that!!!”
“Oh, well, I am much relieved Sir, now, what would Sir like to eat…?”
[size=125]“Argghh!!! - What can I bleedin’ choose then…?”[/size]
“Egg and Chips Sir. It’s what everyone else is having.”
Tab.
