In a Fricken Minute

“I have a question,” I ask at the window. It’s a simple question that could determine my fate… for the afternoon at least.

“Yeah, in a minute,” she says without looking up.

But five seconds and a yes or no answer is all I need to make this important decision. Instead I wait, standing around like a fool. Is there no one else that will help?

She swipes her fingers across the screen of her phone, concentrating hard on the mammoth message she is composing. Her fingers dexterously zoom left and right like a texting ninja with bad spelling.

A minute has already passed. Is she transcribing The Odyssey or what? Or maybe the Bible? Frick. Meanwhile, my situation is getting worse with each wasted second. I think about leaving and going someplace else. But I’m already here and time is so precious.

“One more second…” she says.

Yeah, right.

Two minutes pass. She’s cracking herself up, grinning at the obviously obvious cleverness of her textual masterpiece. Yay for accomplishments.

I cough.

She sighs. She looks at me real sassy kine then shoves her phone into the cup of her bra, making her left chichi look like a rectangle.

That’s no way to treat the Bible.

“What’s your question?”

What IS my question? I’d been waiting so fricken long. I stare at her rectangle chichi and try to remember. Oh yeah…

“So, does the mini plate come with mac salad?”

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