Eating Out: Part 2

Before you read this, read: Eating Out: Part 1







Photo credit: Foter.com

The one ahead of me was glued to his phone. He had the strap of his black leather bag slung on his right shoulder. The black of that bag went well with the corporate deathly white his Van Heusen shirt drowned in and almost disappeared in the frowning brown that his trousers wore. I could not catch much of his conversation because of the din of the traffic that yelled itself into my ears. But it was evident that whoever he was speaking to was not his boss. He took the effort to smile - genuinely - when he heard what the other had to say and he did not shift his weight from one leg to the other in a fraction of a second as he spoke into the phone. Might have been a girlfriend - or let’s say a dear friend - for all I know. But not the boss for sure. 




Photo credit: J. McPherskesen on Foter.com / CC BY-NC-SA

The two ahead of him seemed rather arresting in their appearance. The woman had donned a pair of slacks that were in mourning. Those she paired with a blouse that had an identity crisis: It wanted to pass off as a shirt but wasn’t quite sure whether the disinterested flowers that it awash with would allow it to do so. So it finally settled to embarrass itself as a piece of clothing that had no intention to reveal any flesh that its wearer would readily want to flash. 




The man, on the other hand, took delight in his body. His behind seemed to have been carved out of stones that boasted of the most curvaceous shapes and the trousers he had on made it a point to bring everyone’s attention to those shapes. Both, the man’s body and his trousers made it very evident that a gym somewhere in the city benefitted - monetarily - from his bank account. 




They held each other’s hands time and again; and sifted through the menu splashed on the screens that were suspended a foot or so from the ceiling. Neither was in a hurry. Neither noticed the impatience of the guy at the cash registers, and neither was keen on acknowledging the presence of people around, forget the ones in the queue they had stalled. 




Photo credit: Foter.com

“Order please!” ordered the guy at the counter when he had had enough of their dillydallying and handholding. 

That bark brought them both back to the counter and they ordered whatever they had to. Their order was taken, they were told to stand aside and wait for it, and the queue began to shorten. By the time it was my turn to dillydally at the counter, their order hadn’t arrived. Yet, they did not seem to bother. Frustration did not cloud their faces with a frown nor did impatience weave itself into their bodies. They just stood there looking at the menu on those screens up above the counter. 




I don’t eat much these days. Which is why that dandified version of a batata wada served my purpose pretty well. It’s quick to finish and, more importantly, quicker to make! So, as the guy printed my receipt, my order came in piping hot from the sulking ovens in the kitchens at the back of the food joint. 




I walked away from the counter and sat on a raised platform of cement that served as the seating area. Of course, it wasn’t bare. They had clothed it in tiles the shade of wood. So, had you to not look closely, you would have thought it to be of wood indeed. But of course, I do look closely - for some strange reason, I do look closely into and at everything that comes my way. This was no exception.

To be continued...