tim!: X marks the spot 2003 High School prom theme song ('88 or'89 - not sure) is now playing here at the Ruby Tuesday in Lenoir, NC. Holy Fuck. "When I'm With You.", by Sheriff. So true. I think I am drunk. I asked the waitress (Amy) for two more fajita things. I get three. This is perfect. I eat everything on my plate. Who's a good boy? I am a good boy.
All the wait staff here are female and they are all wearing black. The big girl is clearing dishes. I apologize for pointing this out, but it is the case. I realize how fucked up this may be. Then I realize how little I want to get involved in something like that, that Crusade that I quickly forget it and return to my plate of food. The last fajita is the largest my hand has made and it is choking me. I can still breathe, so I am not technically choking - but it sounds and looks just like it.
Amy cares for me; I can tell by the way she keeps asking me if I need anything more. She has lipstick which matches precisely the color of the inside of a plum, complete with the color variations/striations and gradations. Suddenly I realize another wait staff employee has taken an interest in me. I can't tell if this is because I am dining solo or because I am wearing an expression I am unaware of. Every single time she passes by she asks me if everything is aright, if everything is ok and do I need anything. I want to tell her to leave me alone and that these matters are best left to Amy, my real waitress, and not you, the waitress-poser who wants something out of this and is not just being nice. But I smile and nod her away as I attempt to speak after having just filled the mouth with tender and juicy chicken, more wet than juicy, rice and other fajita stuffs that lie on the plate.
This is likely what is causing the choking sensation I keep getting. It's the interrupted chewing from waitress B, waitress nosey, but cuter by a hair's width than waitress A. Who will save me with the Heimlich when I start to choke for real. I don't pose this as a question, because my faith in my fellow diners is low in this regard. I question my own motives now that I think of it. Would I be there for their choking needs? I'd like to think so. So much cleaner than CPR, now isn't it. At least the bolus is headed the other direction and not already mixed with acid and suddenly in your throat choking you. Transferring the choking from one to another. Thanks friend. Let me know when I can repay the favor.
High school girl (braces, cheerleader outfit, straight brown hair) is killing me from outside. Her mother's hair would surely ignite if it passed within 3 feet of a heat source or a decent spark. From all the hairspray, you see. The mother's hair would not be enough to cover an orange if it were wetted, but here today with a whole can of spray in it; the hair assumes a celestial quality. I imagine the different species of insect that might be trapped in It right now, each in its own private hell. I can tell this from where I am sitting, a good 50 feet away and with a very large pane of glass in between us.
Jefferson, Jefferson Starship, Jefferson Airplane and all of its incarnations is easily the worst band of the last 200 years.
Whoever invented Strawberry Shortcake is a genius. I am now sick with Strawberry Shortcake because someone put ice cream all over it. Scooping the lot of it up in one hand, I throw it at my nearest neighbor who happens to be a 4 year old girl. She catches it easily and immediately shoves it into her mouth without so much as the blink of an eye, or for that matter, the awareness of her parents busy ignoring her just inches away. I wonder what she is thinking as she tries to conceal the instant headache from the adults. Did she just react to the flying object and then decide to eat it, or was it the other way around? Did she see and smell the strawberry-ice-cream mass as it flew towards her, and consciously think to grab it? An important question that would warrant more time of thought if this scenario were actually a real one. And it's too bad I think. Closer to reality is that my aim would be off as usual and the ice cream/shortcake/whipped cream event would sail in an arc-like lob over table 5, pausing only long enough to lose 1 drop of red juice, and then continue on its way until it catches the assistant manager in the side of the head, ending his as yet flawless day.
Oh yeah, I almost forgot. When I wake up when it's still dark outside, the two windows that encase the front door allow each a beam of light to come through and fall on the floor. From the angle of the windows wrt the street light and maybe a few other factors unknown to me, the two light beams cross one another on the floor, in front of the door, just behind the couch - forming an X. Sort of a retarded X, all elongated and weird, but an X nonetheless. In the movie, one of the characters will become obsessed with this X, and be driven to get a pickaxe and smash up the floor to see what it is already that X marks the spot of.
This last part has nothing to do with anything and I am making no apologies.
