Eggs
by
Ben jonjak

He was sitting at her table so she was obligated to approach him.

Overweight.

Unkempt.

Smelly.

She stood there chewing her gum absently. She didn't bother with a pen and pad. The little pink dress clawed at her. The military issues shoes they forced on her clicked against each other indifferently. Hip out, lethargic. Waiting.

What the hell was he waiting for?

''Can I take your order?''� the man offered. He was kind of half smiling like he was confused. He said the words as if he were offering a line at a theatre club. Smug bastard.

She continued chewing and just nodded her head. It was open mouthed chewing, and as she grew more annoyed, the mouth opened wider.

Ex-homecoming queen. Ex-prom queen. Small-time trash in a big-time world. Too good to take this guy's order.

He fingered the keys to his Lexus. It was newly bought. Who knew that spending countless lonely hours crunching numbers in his parents' garage could have paid off so well. He was probably her age. She was cute, he couldn't deny that. Still, she wouldn't look at him.

He pulled a hundred dollar bill from his wallet and put it on the table. Her eyes widened at that, she even glanced his way.

Suddenly he wasn't so overweight.

Suddenly he didn't smell so bad.

But he was still repulsive.

Oprah had told her to watch out for guys like this. So had Dr. Phil. After all, hadn't they had it easy? Hadn't their whole life been planned out for them from the get go? Encouraged to study mathematics, encouraged to succeed. Wasn't she a strong woman? Didn't her opinion matter?

These were the types of things she thought about as she sat at home and watched 'American Idol'� and 'America's Next Top Model.'� She could do everything those girls could. She could frolic in the ocean and let the spraying water wet her top. She could giggle and kick her feet.

She wasn't just better than the contestants.

She was better than Tyra Banks.

She was better than Paula Abdul.

It was just jealousy that kept her off those shows.

'How much is it gonna take for you to serve me?'� the man said. Now he put another hundred down next to the first one.

Her foot stopped tapping.

Here came another one.

And another.

Suddenly she got the impression that this guy wasn't just talking about eggs. The thought made her furious, but the bills didn't stop. Another and another and another and suddenly the anger went away. She glanced around furtively.

He glanced around too. It surprised him that this had worked. Girls like this never used to look at him. If they had he probably wouldn't have locked himself up in the garage for all those hours.

Actually nothing had changed.

She still wasn't looking at him.

She was looking at the money.

Suddenly it was he that was furious.

'Just bring me some eggs,'� he said.

She smiled now and actually winked. All of a sudden he was good enough for a wink.

Maybe he was a television producer.

Maybe she'd finally have her show.

Maybe this was her break.

She did her hair a little and picked up the eggs, but when she came back. He was gone. Scribbled on a napkin was a note.

'Just because I'm attracted to you
doesn't make you better than me.'�

She crumpled it up and was going to throw it away, but then she thought better of it and shoved it into the pocket of her apron.

She was going to mail this to Dr. Phil.

It was simply abhorrent, the state of male population of America.

Something had to be done.

The End

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