We All Eat Alone

Yeah, that's right, Olive Garden.  I'm alone tonight. No, no. Don't even think that maybe someone's in the bathroom.  Because it's not true.  But wait a minute, Puffy Eyed Stranger, there's a woman's coat on the chair across from you. Yes, there is. In desperation to cover up the yawning chasm of my pathetic loneliness, I went next door and bought a fashionable lady's jacket at the TJ Maxx.  This was my ruse for hour six.

Hour 5, I pretended to call my fake girlfriend 17 times to give her driving directions to the restaurant.

Hour 4, I acted like I was a food critic for mediocre chain restaurants.  Even though they're no longer here, I would like to thank the couple next to me who nodded as I described Applebee's honey teriyaki ham steak as capricious whimsy and a Vesuvius of taste.

Hour 3, when I was actually crying, I made it clear that my wife had just been here and had told me she was having an affair.  I was sent some free appletinis from surrounding patrons.  They were almost delicious.

Hour 2, I spent my time texting every woman I know to please show up and get me out of this embarrassing situation.

Hour 1, I waited for my actual girlfriend to show up, and when I say actual girlfriend, I mean Tabitha Runyan, who I work with and made out with at the holiday office party two years in a row and who I invited out to dinner tonight because she said her boyfriend died in Iraq to which I was like, 'About time!'.

Yes, I see you, Manager Fred Asperson.  I know I'm making people uncomfortable.  And I bet you're wishing right now that your servers weren't hot teenage girls without enough arm strength to wrestle a crazy out of your crapsteraunt.  I'm not the worst one here.  You are.  With your faux italian nonsense, engineered to be bland enough that octogenarians can gum it.  Real italians should burn this place down and make a marinara from your blood.

I do want to thank Cindy the Waitress for letting me take up her table for her whole shift.  I'm serious, Cindy. You can have my Vespa as a tip. I only bought it to look cool to Tabitha Runyan.  Who is like this bottomless bowl of soup.  She can fill you up but she only comes in a few boring flavors. Holiday Party Skank Broth.  Lead Me On Chowder. And Every Nice Word That Comes From Her Mouth Is Bologna Minestrone.

Why did I order so much food? Because somewhere around Hour 3 I decided to eat myself to death.  That was before I googled it during Hour 5 and found out that's a long process.  Why did I stay?  Because I have nothing out there.  At least in here, I have people that care enough to come up to me and say, "Another refill?" and "Sir, you've been here a very long time."  and "Yes, the cook does think the Seafood Alfredo Pasta tastes better with your tears on it."

One day, you'll be here.  Because in the end WE ALL EAT ALONE.  That's right.  No matter how many dinners you share with how many people, nobody eats that food but you.  No one's teeth but yours will chew it.  No one's esophagus but yours will shoot it into your digestion bag.  And no one's enzymes but yours will break it down into the ingredients we need to stay sadly clinging to life.

I'm leaving, Manager Fred Asperson.  But not before I get all this mediocrity packed in to go boxes. Waitress Cindy, I love you. I think you're wearing the wrong shade of foundation though. Waiter Matthew, you're a douche for telling table 6 that my wife really wasn't here.  I might come back and hit you with my Elantra.  That fashionable lady's jacket is up for grabs.