She Started Waiting Tables
by
Mr. Thompson

I sat there, waiting for Hank for the better part of about an hour, when she started waiting tables.

I knew her too well, but she did not know me.  Her name was Dalma.  Dalma T. Dalmatian, to be exact.  She was a liver spotted dalmatian, but that's not what what sold me.  One look into her eyes, and she can have anyone she wanted.  I knew this for a fact, and I tried to let it go, lord knows I tried to.  And yet, I wouldn't.  I wasn't trying to score with her, I just wanted her attention beyond just taking my order.

She came to my table after what seemed like an eternity of waiting.  Here she comes, I thought to myself.  Now's my chance to make my move to get her attention.

She finally came up to my booth.  "What'll it be, darling?"  It felt like a dream, too good to be real.  She had this ethereal glow about her, like the spot light shone extra bright just on her, and the background faded into darkness.  I thought to myself, This is it!  I finally have her!

But reality has a way of destroying the illusion.  Of breaking the fantasy and killing a man in a cruel, inhuman way.  And all it took was an interruption from my appointment.

"Yeah, I'll have a Heineken, with a turkey on rye and fries, thank you."  I looked up to find who it was.

It was Hank.  As always, the fox had the world's perfect timing for interrupting at the most inconvenient times.  Thanks, Hank, I thought.  I was this close to finally talking to her.

"And what'll it be for you, sir?"  She asked me as she wrote down our orders.  "A Coke," I replied, "and a slice with the works."  "And don't forget to give us separate checks too, babe."  I wanted to cut him down for that.

"Yes, sir," she managed after taking our orders, heading over to the kitchen to pass it along to the short order cook.  When she finally disappeared from sight, I turned back to find Hank giving me his trademark wry smile.