Enough is as good as obese

by Chris Morvan

The waiter doesn’t understand a word I say:  I have to repeat everything. I find myself getting silly in my irritation: I’ll (slowly) have (pause) the (enunciate)  crab (yawn) salad (sigh) wrap.

He seems to speak good English but something is throwing him: maybe my English accent, which I know is a bit of a rarity around here. I presume he’s Dutch because he is at least 8 feet tall and fair-skinned.

But it’s not just my accent. His face is flushed. His hair is greasy. His eyes are red. He has a vague, disorientated, slightly haunted look. It’s the lunchtime after the night before and this guy has a monumental hangover. It’s the end of carnival, and he is showing signs of having been a reveler for the duration. Certainly last night.

It’s to his credit that he is even at work at all.

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