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What do you do for lunch?
I walk across the parking lot surveying the place I am about to enter. the thick wooden blinds are down but open however the dark interior keeps me from seeing in. The brick looks new as the color of the concrete hasn't yet had time to turn to the old gray color. I open the door to a long bar, there are two persons behind the bar, a large man in his thirties cleaning and a woman in her late twenties cleaning glasses. she doesn't look up. there is one gentleman sitting at the bar reading the paper. the larger man asks if I am there for lunch and I respond with yes. there is no door on my side of the bar so he takes a long walk to the other end and then back up to meet me at the door. the long silence is unnerving so much so that the man sitting at the bar rustles his paper and changes his seating. the bartender asks how I am in a daily repetitiveness with a generated smile, like he cares, I consider telling him a long drawn out story about how my day has gone and how I am feeling at that current moment, make him stand there with no way out having to listen to me sobbing about how my feet hurt and the meeting I just had with my boss. I however decide to spare him the agony and just nod. he grabs a menu and sits me in the first seat he comes to, right by the door just so he doesn't have to walk around the resteraunt and find a place not so consumed with traffic. he wonders back to his bar and I notice that there is only one napkin and silverware set at the table. I run through my head the reasons that would be and come up with five or six turning my attention then to the menu. nothing special about their menu dishes that have Italian names but aren't anywhere close. I stare at the selection and regret coming. Americans have the worst taste in food, everything has to be deep fried and oily before they will eat it; it's really grotesque. I find the least offensive thing I can find on the list. under lunch special they have chicken paramagane. the waitress comes by, she is about 33 with dark short hair, as usual hoping I will order something with alcohol in it. I don't and she wines with disappointment going to fetch my sprite. I look across the table and some teenage girl is talking to her parents, she is facing me and her parents backs ar turned, she is explaining her life very loudly to them. The waitress comes by with my drink and I give her my order. I look around the room, the walls are dark wood and the overhead lights are just over the table and fairly dim. still too bright for me. the plastic plants hanging from the 1/2 size wall between here and the bar haven't been cleaned in what looks like years. The tables are arranged badly, like they didn't have enough tables so they placed them so it would seem like they filled the room. Some sports games is playing on the television on the wall, I still don't understand that concept. I look at my the paper that was once holding my straw. two piece one twice the size of the other. I fold them in half longways and make the fold deeper and deeper with my nail. the girl across from me is talking about pregnant woman having hair on their thunge and she swears it's true because she read it in people magazine. Somehow I doubt she has EVER read people magazine. she doesn't look like the type who can read their own name with out help. my food arrives and I put my straw holder away. the chicken is deep fried ...ick... it's black on the edges from what ever they cooked it in and covered in oil and cheese. I decide to eat it last and start on the noodles. after putting the first few in my mouth I realize that they had been cooked earlier, chilled and then re-heated. you can't do that to noodles. I eat my food and go over the DES3 encryption model in my head over and over again add, fold, delete 3 sets 3 times with 2 keys. how many things that we use today were first drawn on paper napkins? the girl gets up and goes to the bathroom, her parents discuss if she is is having sex yet or not. her mother is wearing a huge rock on her finger. they are upper middle class. why not use a larger key, or a key in parts. break up the 3 internal steps with the multiple keys. she returns to her place at the table. there is a man and woman sitting at the far end of the restraunt, I can't tell what they are discussing. he is married and this is not his wife, guys make it so horribly obvious when they do that, she is a real ditz too, curling her hair in her finger and making the 'I'm flirting with you' squeeky noise. the girl comes back and her father pays the check. they all get up to leave. she leaves lasts and stares and winks at me on the way out. her parents were wrong. I finish my meal and watch some of the other people. the older couple that has run out of things to say to each other. and the high school kids acting like an ass in front of the waitress. I ask for my check, and have her get me change. overtip as usual. outside the sun still hasn't come out, good, I don't like the sun that much anyway. some lesbians are crossing the street to get to the grocery store and a truck is trying to trun in front of me. I make my way back to my care and drive the mile back to Sci-Atl.
What are people thinking about, what are the events that brought them to this moment in their life. not anything special just the movements the crossings even if you don't see the crossing that brought them to where they are. a restraunt, club, Disneyland. what got them there. why did they choose that. What kind of a past does someone who you have never met have to get to where they are. what came before that. so many pasts, so many crossings, so many differences for the same place.
so many people don't notice it.
the bartender, the waitress, the man with the paper at the end of the bar. the man and woman to my right, the school girl, her parents, each of them individual then crossed now seeing the same person they knew from two completely different places. what happens in the parts of life that we see of them, when they go where do they. do they still exist?
they just don't think about it.
what did you do for lunch?
I walk across the parking lot surveying the place I am about to enter. the thick wooden blinds are down but open however the dark interior keeps me from seeing in. The brick looks new as the color of the concrete hasn't yet had time to turn to the old gray color. I open the door to a long bar, there are two persons behind the bar, a large man in his thirties cleaning and a woman in her late twenties cleaning glasses. she doesn't look up. there is one gentleman sitting at the bar reading the paper. the larger man asks if I am there for lunch and I respond with yes. there is no door on my side of the bar so he takes a long walk to the other end and then back up to meet me at the door. the long silence is unnerving so much so that the man sitting at the bar rustles his paper and changes his seating. the bartender asks how I am in a daily repetitiveness with a generated smile, like he cares, I consider telling him a long drawn out story about how my day has gone and how I am feeling at that current moment, make him stand there with no way out having to listen to me sobbing about how my feet hurt and the meeting I just had with my boss. I however decide to spare him the agony and just nod. he grabs a menu and sits me in the first seat he comes to, right by the door just so he doesn't have to walk around the resteraunt and find a place not so consumed with traffic. he wonders back to his bar and I notice that there is only one napkin and silverware set at the table. I run through my head the reasons that would be and come up with five or six turning my attention then to the menu. nothing special about their menu dishes that have Italian names but aren't anywhere close. I stare at the selection and regret coming. Americans have the worst taste in food, everything has to be deep fried and oily before they will eat it; it's really grotesque. I find the least offensive thing I can find on the list. under lunch special they have chicken paramagane. the waitress comes by, she is about 33 with dark short hair, as usual hoping I will order something with alcohol in it. I don't and she wines with disappointment going to fetch my sprite. I look across the table and some teenage girl is talking to her parents, she is facing me and her parents backs ar turned, she is explaining her life very loudly to them. The waitress comes by with my drink and I give her my order. I look around the room, the walls are dark wood and the overhead lights are just over the table and fairly dim. still too bright for me. the plastic plants hanging from the 1/2 size wall between here and the bar haven't been cleaned in what looks like years. The tables are arranged badly, like they didn't have enough tables so they placed them so it would seem like they filled the room. Some sports games is playing on the television on the wall, I still don't understand that concept. I look at my the paper that was once holding my straw. two piece one twice the size of the other. I fold them in half longways and make the fold deeper and deeper with my nail. the girl across from me is talking about pregnant woman having hair on their thunge and she swears it's true because she read it in people magazine. Somehow I doubt she has EVER read people magazine. she doesn't look like the type who can read their own name with out help. my food arrives and I put my straw holder away. the chicken is deep fried ...ick... it's black on the edges from what ever they cooked it in and covered in oil and cheese. I decide to eat it last and start on the noodles. after putting the first few in my mouth I realize that they had been cooked earlier, chilled and then re-heated. you can't do that to noodles. I eat my food and go over the DES3 encryption model in my head over and over again add, fold, delete 3 sets 3 times with 2 keys. how many things that we use today were first drawn on paper napkins? the girl gets up and goes to the bathroom, her parents discuss if she is is having sex yet or not. her mother is wearing a huge rock on her finger. they are upper middle class. why not use a larger key, or a key in parts. break up the 3 internal steps with the multiple keys. she returns to her place at the table. there is a man and woman sitting at the far end of the restraunt, I can't tell what they are discussing. he is married and this is not his wife, guys make it so horribly obvious when they do that, she is a real ditz too, curling her hair in her finger and making the 'I'm flirting with you' squeeky noise. the girl comes back and her father pays the check. they all get up to leave. she leaves lasts and stares and winks at me on the way out. her parents were wrong. I finish my meal and watch some of the other people. the older couple that has run out of things to say to each other. and the high school kids acting like an ass in front of the waitress. I ask for my check, and have her get me change. overtip as usual. outside the sun still hasn't come out, good, I don't like the sun that much anyway. some lesbians are crossing the street to get to the grocery store and a truck is trying to trun in front of me. I make my way back to my care and drive the mile back to Sci-Atl.
What are people thinking about, what are the events that brought them to this moment in their life. not anything special just the movements the crossings even if you don't see the crossing that brought them to where they are. a restraunt, club, Disneyland. what got them there. why did they choose that. What kind of a past does someone who you have never met have to get to where they are. what came before that. so many pasts, so many crossings, so many differences for the same place.
so many people don't notice it.
the bartender, the waitress, the man with the paper at the end of the bar. the man and woman to my right, the school girl, her parents, each of them individual then crossed now seeing the same person they knew from two completely different places. what happens in the parts of life that we see of them, when they go where do they. do they still exist?
they just don't think about it.
what did you do for lunch?
