A white cat sits upright at a dinner table, paws on the tablecloth, in front of a plate of salad, mouth open in dismay.

TONIGHT'S SPECIAL: DECLINED

Table for one, still not eating the salad.

Every service, the same order arrives. Every service, the same face. The kitchen has stopped taking it personally. Mostly.

TIME AT THIS TABLE: —

Tonight's Menu

Five courses. One complaint. Prices firm, opinions firmer.

Amuse-Bouche complimentary

A small bite before the real argument begins.
Soup of the Day $14

Cream of tomato. The kind he would actually finish, for the record.
The Salad Course $22

Mixed greens, sliced tomato, a plea for balance nobody at this table requested.
waiter's margin note
The Main $34

Whatever isn't green. He has never once asked what it is.
Dessert $16

Arrives untouched by complaint. The only course that does.

From the Waiter's Notebook

Table 12 again tonight. Same order, same face, same plate pushed six inches toward the center of the table like it might quietly disappear on its own. Management has stopped asking if everything is alright. Everything is not alright. Everything has not been alright since the salad first arrived, and it keeps arriving anyway, because someone at this establishment keeps ordering it on his behalf.

PLATES RETURNED: 0

Reservations

Table 12 is always available. He is always seated. The salad is always coming.

Confirmation Number

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