I’m gonna second what Richard said about his post this week.
Not quite firing on all cylinders. I’m really looking forward to the weekend. And not doing a damn thing if I can help it.
No word from Dave yet, but he could be busy putting razor-wire around his apartment.
(A small table in a stylish bistro. A man and woman are chatting about a book at one table. At another, Craig sits looking at the menu. A waiter approaches.)
WAITER: Could I get you something to drink while you’re looking over the menu?
CRAIG: I’ll just have a bottle of Evian.
WAITER: I’m sorry sir, but bottled water has been banned in the city.
CRAIG: Really?
WAITER: I’m afraid so. We just have tap water.
CRAIG: Oh, then, Aquafina I guess.
WAITER: That’s bottled water, sir.
CRAIG: Really? I read something on Slate.com about it being just tap water.
WAITER: It may be, but they still put it in a bottle and ship it out.
CRAIG: Where does your water come from?
WAITER: The lake, I suppose.
CRAIG: No aquifer or mountain stream?
WAITER: There are no mountains in Chicago.
CRAIG: Wow. This is tough. I really had a taste of water when I came in here.
WAITER: I can bring you a glass of water, if that’s what you want.
CRAIG: Why didn’t you just say so? I’ll have an Evian.
WAITER: But. It will be a glass that I hold under the tap in the kitchen sink. Because there is no bottled water.
CRAIG: Ew. Sink water? I thought this was a Zagat’s rated restaurant.
WAITER: The food is very good sir.
CRAIG: But the water’s from the toilet.
(Craig takes a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and pulls one out. He takes out a lighter.)
WAITER: Excuse me, sir.
CRAIG: What now?
WAITER: There’s no smoking in the restaurant.
CRAIG: (Sighing heavily) You didn’t ask me if I wanted smoking or non-smoking. I would have told you I wanted smoking.
WAITER: No smoking in the entire restaurant.
CRAIG: Fine. I’ll sit at the bar then.
WAITER: The entire restaurant. Including the bar.
CRAIG: You know I should just take my money and find another restaurant.
WAITER: But?
CRAIG: But nothing. Just bring me your foie gras appetizer. Unless you banned geese as well.
WAITER: Geese no. Foie gras yes.
CRAIG: Oh, come on!
(The lights come up on another table, at which Richard and Dave are sitting, drinking cocktails.)
RICHARD: The third one should have been funny.
DAVE: Foie gras is pretty funny, when you think about it.
RICHARD: It should have been something outlandish, though. Something extreme.
DAVE: Force feeding geese to make their livers swell isn’t outlandish or extreme?
RICHARD: Oh, shut up.
DAVE: I’m just saying.
(The lights go down on their table and come back up on Craig and the Waiter.)
CRAIG: Who are they?
WAITER: I don’t know, but they’ve been in here all morning commenting on everything anyone says.
CRAIG: Weird.
WAITER: I know. So, have you decided?
CRAIG: I’ll just have the grasshopper gonad soup. And a glass of your iced Deported Immigrant Tears.
WAITER: Venti or Grande?
CRAIG: Grande, of course.
(The waiter and Craig freeze mid laugh. The lights come up on David and Richard’s table. The look at one another and roll their eyes.)
DAVID: (Calling towards the bar, holding up his glass.) Yeah, I’m gonna need another one of these.
RICHARD: (Holding up his glass) Make that two.
BLACKOUT