Diner Diaries

Life and Times of a Patron of the King's Chef diner

Monday, November 04, 2002

One of the bad things about blogging, is that I am tempted to forget that there is a potential audience out there of millions. So, unlike writing in a journal, I must censor myself, for some of the things I most want to comment on are personal and private to another. And so, if I want to be a decent person (shocking in this day and age, I know) I must forego mentioning some things that just beg to be written about.

Let me mention this one thing. Stalker3 came in the other day, flashing her bra, showing Gary a little of what he’s missing. If Gary can hold out under this kind of pressure—well, I may have to rethink my bet. Perhaps he will get beyond her after all.

It may be time to do a Dave piece.

Dave, the cook, is a shorter, lean man. Looks like he may be pretty fit under those loose-fitting patterned jeans and t-shirts he wears. He’s bald with the aid of Bic, and apparently used to have a braid to his waist. He’s pretty careful about what he eats, mixing up protein shakes for himself every day.

I’m not sure how old he is, though he’s likely in his late thirties or forties. (Men age so well, don’t you think?) He’s another tattoo-wearing guy, and I’ve never seen him without a backwards ball cap on his head. I’m guessing he’s older, not by his looks, but by his attitude with the others. He often has an indulgent kids-will-be-kids expression on his face, shaking his head at some of their foolishness, and tolerating the music rather than loving it like Dread-less or Gary.

I recognize that head shake. It’s the same one I do when the kids are being just a little too silly or a little too gross. It’s prior to the all-out “turn that crap off!” after too much time or too many decibels of crappy music.

Dave stays pretty much on an even keel, even when one of the “kids” keeps screwing up, he explains things patiently, or shows how something is done briskly, keeping his tone and volume fairly level, even when you can tell he’s frustrated. It’s a good thing, because these guys work in really tight quarters.

Well I’m off to go pick up a soda at my favorite spot. Talk at you later.

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