"It's my birthday." He told the weather-worn waitress with blond hair and a name tag that read "Darleen". He didn't know if it was a typo or really her name.
She brightened up slightly.
"Oh! Wonderful news! How old are you today, birthday boy?"
"Ancient," he replied, ashamed at blurting that out. Was he hoping for a free meal? Was he being flirty? He wasn't quite sure. "Look, please don't sing that song or bring me a cake with one little candle. I don't celbrate birthdays." He didn't feel like explaining it, so he left it at that. He looked at the over sized menu that had more pages than a Tom Clancy novel.
She held her pad in her left hand, her pencil hovering like a helicopter, ready to drop and write concentric orders in a crazy doodle for the cook to decipher.
"Um, would you like something to drink?" The smile dimming just a bit.
"Coffee, I'd appreciate that." He said charmingly, so make her feel a little better.
"We do give a free meal for a birth...."
"Oh no, that's fine. I was planning on a big breakfast anyhow," he cut her off.
The letters on the menu were distorted. The black letters shifting their vertical lines. He slightly cocked his head until they lined up a little better. He looked for a meal that he hadn't tried yet, even though he often went to this diner.
He really loved this restaurant, eating there frequently. Usually he saw the same workers, but he didn't recognize his waitress. Must be new.
The menu had the usual assortment of breakfast items and burgers and salads for lunch. His favorite menu item was the "loaded hash browns". He took every opportunity to order it with his meal. Even at dinner-time. He remembered once telling the bewildered server, a slight, frail-looking brunette, maybe 25, that he would have the "Mediterranean chicken with rice pilaf and dinner bread, with a plate of loaded hash browns on the side."
What were the "loaded hash browns"? He imagined telling his virtual son that they were a lovely concoction, hash browns stuffed with sour cream with onions, bell peppers and cheese smothered on top, as if it was a loaded baked potato. Heaven!
Not finding anything unique on the menu, as it was breakfast time anyway, he ordered, his usual, the "Meat Lover's Special" (bacon, sausage and ham!) with the loaded hash browns, with a small apple juice and his coffee.
Darleen wrote dutifully on her pad, promised the coffee, took the huge menu and sashayed away, trailing s hint of Coco Chanel #5 in her wake.
He looked around the busy restaurant. The other patrons were blurry and had different shapes and colors. Three tables away, a baby gurgled in his high chair, and pounded the little attached table like he was calling his court to order.
His mother, held up some eggs on a spoon and held it toward her child. He sniffed, then opened his mouth for "yiddle plan to land in the hangar" as mother cooed encouragement.
He turned away and noticed his steaming coffee sitting there. He didn't see Darleen bring it. He drank it black, so he raised it to his lips to test the temperature. It was slightly scalding. He decided to wait. He looked out the window and the vehicular blobs flying past, thundering down the freeway (so close!) and going off to who knows where. He turned back to see his apple juice had magically appeared also. He looked around to see if he could spot Darleen aka Houdini, but she was nowhere in sight. He took a sip of the cool, sweet liquid and thought about his glucose level.
He fumbled in his jacket pocket and pulled out his glucose meter, with the insulin pen zipped into it, its top sticking out like a flag. Unzipping it open, he felt for the capped needle and found it. Peeling off the sanitation cover, he screwed it on and rotated the dial on the end, counting the clicks to the desired dosage. He couldn't see the number, but figured it was right. He uncapped the needle, took off the second protector on the needle itself, lifted up his shirt and discreetly, under the table, administered his dose.
Twenty years of diabetes and he still hated it. For a long time, he didn't care about it, just ate whatever he wanted, taking a pill twice a day to control it. But, that hadn't helped. Now, he was really focused on making sure he had enough medication, so he would take what he thought he needed for the meal and test it later to see if his deductions where correct. Sometimes, he over-estimated and his brain would feel woozy and dizzy for low blood sugar and he would take a chew able sugar tablet to bring it up closer to normal. Other times, he would under-guess and his feet would feel more numb than usual. But, he did his best, but twenty years older, and today, feeling fatigued, a little sorry for himself, wanting to throw up his hands and say, "All right! All right! Enough!"
The food came. The three meats all huddled in one corner of the plate, as if they were trying to avoid danger overhead. Did it look like the bacon was protecting the sausage, or was the big slab of ham supporting them both? He speared the sausage and tasted it/ Pork links with the skin on, not those nasty turkey things. Yummy! The bacon, well, wasn't as crispy as he liked, more fatty and soft.
The eggs were fluffy and he poured some Tabasco on them for some flavor. The hash browns would be last, the best part of the meal, and worth the wait. Darleen flashed by and slid a small plate with toast in his general direction.
"More coffee?" She purred. He nodded, mouth full as she poured more into the mug. "Anytime you're ready," she counseled, laying the ticket face down on the country. Why did they do that? If they put it face up, what would happen? "Ye gods! Four dollars for a coffee?? Manager!" He flipped it to see how much. Yes, pricey but those were great hash browns.
The meal over, dawdling over a third helping of coffee, he decided it was time to go. He stood painfully, stretching his bent legs and cracking his neck. One hand pulled out his wallet, the other grabbing his hat and cane. All geared up, he took the bill to the front and paid. A jolting ride home to quiet and an audio book, currently a collection of James Thurber short stories.
He calculated how long to his next fix of loaded hash browns, which wasn't long, and looked forward to another chance at eating out.
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