File Under 'Shithead'

Good luck, shithead.

I was getting pretty hungry, so I thought I might eat. I'd had one of those. It was now well into the a.m. without a bite to eat all day. Our pantry was empty, just like always, so I thought of places to go. Everywhere is closed at this hour except for this greasy 24/7 diner just down the way from my apartment, and if I were any less hungry I'd have probably passed. But I wasn't, and it's such a nice night for a walk, and I'm comfortably expectant, so off I go!
So I get there and an intended-to-be-friendly sign greeted me with "PLEASE SEAT YOURSELF". But, of course. I chose a booth out of the general thoroughfare, but there was no one in the restaurant to avoid. From what I could see, I was the only customer there. It seemed I was the only person at all. I sat and waited for another ten minutes before a waitress emerged to get my drink order. To say that my server was unattractive would be a gross-i repeat, gross- understatement. A lumpy, brutal body supported an unwieldy head sporting a yellow, nicotine-stained moustache and humorless eyes. She reeked of old tobacco and an acrid blend of stale perfume and bacon grease. How long has she worked here?, I asked myself. Furthermore, how old is she? It was impossible to estimate.
"Coke, please."
A blank stare followed by lethargic check scribbling and she was gone for another twenty minutes.
She finally brought out my coke--again, I am the only patron in the diner--and took the rest of my order. I got some sort of mega-breakfast meal with lots of eggs and stuff and some kind of pork; I forget exactly because I wouldn't end up eating any of it. She wrote it down somewhat begrudgingly and slumped back into wherever it was that she kept going. The coke was no good. It was all seltzery and not enough syrupy. I wouldn't mention it except that it was another straw for the camel's back. I should have left right then and there, but. . . a reflex? An intuition? I thought something was about to happen. Something to see. So I stayed and waited.
During my wait, I saw a man, that I can only assume was the cook from his dress and the door from which he made an urgent egress, bolt from around the counter and burst out the exit. From my seat next to the window I could easily regard him as he proceeded to vomit forcefully on the curb in front of the diner. After he finished he wiped his mouth on his sleeve and returned inside. He walked directly back to the kitchen. Tremors. Klaxons. The Fear. Kept me glued to my seat.
I'd been in the diner for about an hour, listening to the tiresome muzak woodwinds fill in for the vocal melodies of dumb songs when my food finally came. The haggard graveyard veteran slid the plate in front of me and turned around without a word. Thanks. A brief inspection of my plate: the eggs were speckled with little pearly bits of egg shell, the pork product was burnt and indeterminable, the toast quite simply was not. I could see nothing wrong with the grits save for the bodily hair. I eyed my coke with a new mistrust and grew very queasy.
I am not generally one to complain about things like service, quality, hygiene, etc., but this was. . . I picked myself up and marched directly for the counter so I could throw a little tantrum. I knew it wouldn't change anything, but I didn't care about change. I just wanted them to listen. I found myself striding towards the waitress to part with my two cents, all the while cursing my rotten luck, and then a most miraculous thing occured. Time began to slow as the cook came bursting out of the kitchen doors again, only this time he's completely engulfed in flames. He's flailing aimlessly, as I imagine the engulfed are entitled to do, and in his limbic carousing he crashed into the ogrely waitress and set her ablaze, too. I jumped back to narrowly avoid a similar fate, and I ran straight out the doors. I could see the fire starting to spread as the two of them went dashing about, fumbling with and fighting over a fire exstinguisher, so I called the fire department from the nearest payphone before I started walking back home.
After all I'd been through that evening, I felt sort of lucky to have witnessed such an incongruous chain of events come to such a delightful conclusion, but then I remembered how hungry I still was and decided that things are not, in fact, looking up for me.