Airport Diner

Late last night, after a very long day, my darling Chelsea and I went to a nearby diner to simultaneously grab food and be productive.  I had a huge report to finish for work and she had a math final to study for.

Though we got to the diner at about 8 p.m. or so, the following is a transcript of the most eventful portions of the evening.

Scene: Me on my laptop, though admittedly I don’t look like I’m doing work as I am on Twitter and Facebook tracking social media mentions.  Chelsea’s notebook and math notes are strewn about.  Quesadilla remnants and coffee cups litter the table.
 9:00 p.m.

Chelsea, who cannot focus for anything (too much caffeine probably,) settles on her mantra, repeating it to give her strength:

1-Do the stuff

2-Learn the things

3-Not fail the test

book

Aggressive.

9:17 p.m.

Mantra is slightly altered:

1-Do some of the stuff

2-Learn a few of the things

3-Consider not failing the test

9:20 p.m.

In an attempt to keep the mantra alive, I intervene:

Kim – “Chelsea, do the stuff.”

Chels – “UGH the stuff”

Kim – “Just learn one thing”

Chels – “Baby steps!”

9:22 p.m.

We both overhear other patron mention surgery.

Chelsea whimpers, puts head on table**.

9:33 p.m.

A waiter who is not our waiter this evening, drops a check that is not ours on our table.

“Here ladies, those guys said you would pick up their check.”  Two men a few booths away, who we had no idea were even there, laugh and wave.

We jokingly say yes, oh sure, you guys get the next one!  And strike up a short convo with these men, the only people on our side of the diner.

9:36 p.m.

The one customer has paid, suddenly comes back, leaves name and number on a piece of paper, looks Chelsea deep in the eye, as if to see into her soul and make it clear this message was for her, not me, “If you ever need another study buddy.”  He ends with, “I’m Phill,” shakes mine and Chelsea’s hands.

With two 'L's

With two ‘L’s

We. Die.

9:45 p.m.

Our favorite waiter [S, the waiter who we sometimes go to the diner specifically to harass] comes over to visit and we recount the story to him and have lots of laugh.

9:52 p.m.

Mantra edited again:

Learn the things, pick up the chicks.

10:01 p.m.

Chelsea and S debate over the causes of the civil war.

S says it had nothing to do with slaves/slavery.

10:05 p.m.

New revelation – World War 2, started by greedy Jews.

10:10 p.m.

Chelsea hacks up a hairball

10:14 p.m.

Chelsea declares herself recovered from her  battle with Malaysian Hooker Flu, which she also declares to be a real thing.

10:22 p.m.

Chelsea forces herself to fake cry to make me wildly uncomfortable.

11:08 p.m.

Leaving diner, we inform our not waiter that he instigated some scandalous goings on by giving us those other patrons’ check.  When we told him that dude gave us his number, we were complimented.

“Well you are pretty,” he says.

Not being sure whether he just meant Chelsea, or was referring to both of us, I respond, “Oh, flattery will get you everywhere my friend.”

Chelsea, being Chelsea, awkwardly laughs and turns away.

11:15 p.m.

I drop Chelsea at home, and we both bask in the glow of a lovely, ridiculous evening.

**Footnote: Chelsea gets her femur broken next week.  We hope this will be the last in a long line of ridiculous, painful, life-consuming surgeries, resulting from a freak trampoline incident in high school.
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