I was sitting by the window eating a tuna salad sandwich (excellent, but the sliced cucumber was completely unnecessary), watching guys in orange vests getting ready to pave the street and trying to figure out why they had a lawn mower with them. I had tentatively decided that the lawn mower must belong to a different group of guys in orange vests — right? — when a guy walked in the door and surveyed the restaurant. He was clearly looking for someone.
The guy behind the cash register — a guy as broad as he was tall and he was very tall — boomed out something like “Can I help you?” He had an obvious accent that was probably German. The guy at the door finished scanning the room and replied “I’m meeting a friend here but I don’t see her.”
“Have a seat anywhere you like…” About then my carrot cake arrived so I didn’t hear much more than that. (It was excellent too but could have used a wee bit more cinnamon and maybe a teeny bit of ginger which I realize is nontraditional.) When I was scraping the last bits of cream cheese icing from my plate a young lady arrived at the door and started to scan the room. Behind me a German-accented voice thundered “You must be the friend.”
The look on her face was priceless.