Absurd Al regally sat at a table in one of those trendy nouveau Italian restaurants that claimed to be authentic. He was reading 'The Book of the Courtier' by Castiglione. He was not fooled by all the faux sophistication par excellence that hovered and swirled all around him like an erratic tornado. Such establishments are home to much frivolous talk.
It may as well, since these people who sink capital from unknown destinations, think little of providing quality service and food.
Everywhere he looked he met a wall of omnipotent mediocrity. There was no sense in sulking and ratifying his anger.
The waitress breaks in and interrupts his pondering moment. "What can I get you?" she indifferently asks.
"I'll have the risotto. Can I have fresh basil sprinkled on it please?"
Al noticed the waitress's eyes turn white as she answered, "Huh? I'll have to ask the manager."
He could oversee the team discussing the matter. The manager, in his manifested ugly cocky arrogance, came over.
"We only have dried basil." he proclaimed firmly. As if to say, I have no idea what basil is and nor should you.
"I thought you were an authentic trattoria. How can you call yourself authentic Italian and not have FRESH BASIL?"
"Whatever sir, this is how it is."
"Maybe I should leave." he thought to himself.
Before he could make haste, he overheard a conversation that captured his sensitive hearing.
"Since I did not eat the whole pizza, I would like to pay for the portion I actually ate." Absurd Al never quite heard such an assertion and demand. He looked over and saw the skank of all skanks. The spoiled tramps of all vulgar whores. The underground Queen of obscene opulence, sister of Madonna - crooked knees Paris Hilton.
"My, her make up is terrible." he thought to himself. She continued.
"Listen stupid little 'I have to work to survive guy' I want to pay for 3/4ths and two bites and nothing more."
The fight was on. How the establishment was going to fight this he didn't know but surely fight they must! Right?
The stumpy brained manager, dead thoughts on one hand and image conscious narcissism on the other, came forward and told Paris that the meal was on the house.
Absurd Al was not accorded a sympathetic campari for the basil fiasco but a pointless collection of bacteria and cells was given a free meal?
"Oh well," he muttered and chuckled. He asked for an espresso. It came back in an allonge cup and a regular sized spoon. "What am I a barbarian?"
"Look sir, this is just a job for me. Take it to the manager," the waitress defiantly quipped.
He thought about Paris Hilton. He decided to not make an issue of it. It is, what it is. It's a world for impostors and AA had no meeting to go to.
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