Well...What do you think?

Howdy folks! I thought I'd take a little time out of my day to ask you all for your opinion (just go easy on me!) So, to make a long story short, I am currently in the process of writing season 3 of Tay (I know, it's about time!). I am about 80% sure about what all of the shorts and segments I'm putting in. Now here's the other 20% I'm not sure about. I wrote this little short story; I say short story, but really it is meant to be made into  a film, I just wrote it in short story format. The thing is, I'm not sure if I should include in Tay or make it into a stand alone film. Of course, our good buddy-ol-pal J. Austin Duke suggested that we take my initial story and make a series of short films out of it. I'm totally on board with this, but the question is do we put the series on Tay, or make it stand alone? What do you think? I really want to know, so do me a favor: read my story below and let me know what you think I should do with it. Again, it is written in a short story format, but it is intended to be a film: the words you are reading will be a monolog that plays out over the course of the whole movie, and whatever is read will appear before your eyes on the silver screen. I also need to take a little time to thank and give a small co-writer credit to my friend Mike Prevost. The story you are about to read has many elements in it that are true.  Here it is!

 

Things I think About While Dining Alone

 

It was a rainy night somewhere in some hub town en route to the place I was supposed to be at. I've always hated driving in the rain, I loathed driving at night even more. You develop this little quirk due to certain mishaps in life. Like that time I was on my way home from a New Year's party; I was driving on a hilly country road late in the early morning when all of a sudden, as I drove around the curve, a big black horse popped out of no where! I screamed for my life, slamming  on the brakes, praying that should this be my last night on earth that my family knows that I loved them very much; and that if someone could please shut the coffee pot off before it short circuits and catches the house on fire, that would be great! Fortunately my brakes held out, and the big black horse trotted away as if this catastrophe was not going to happen. Still, I must confess, the most pervasive thought only mind was not my potential impending death, but whether or not this horse belonged to one of the Four Horseman of the Apocalypse, or one of the black hooded riders from Lord of the Rings. Oh well, I'll never know.

Anyway, so as I'm driving I notice ahead that seemed to remind my stomach that I was, in fact, hungry. Yes, a diner. It sort of reminded me of a movie, and on that note I decided that there was no way I could miss this most epic cinematic adventure! I pulled in, and made my way into this little dive. Time flies when you're dining alone, especially when you're drinking black coffee. The caffeine stimulates your brain, forcing your mind to wander to every topic from saving the world, to running for Congress. As I'm sitting there, scrolling sown the menu, one particular item caught my eye: what in God's name is a Chicken Marsala Sandwich?! Being a food connoisseur, I'm well aware that Chicken Marsala is pasta, but how in the heck do you put it on a sandwich? I had to ask my waitress, but I'm not so sure she gave me a good answer. It was either that or I was so distracted by her unibrow that I tuned everything else out. There was something oddly persistent about this lady; I think she was hitting on me, she left some pretty subtle hints, Poor thing, she doesn't realize she doesn't have a chance with me. The unibrow is part of it, but as a rule I don't date women with the same first name as a city or state. Too many bad memories.

Eating alone has it's perks. I consider people watching to be a favorite pass time. I'm really good at it, if I don't say so myself! Unfortunately, I've got to be really careful about how long I analyze these people; don't want to give them the impression that I'm staring at them, even though I am. This time, I really had to be discreet, because there was less than ten people in this little roadside establishment. One table directly to my right next to the window sat a married couple, possibly in their thirties, arguing about generic thirtysomething marital problems. It was one of those awkward conversations in which they were trying to keep their voices down, but they were still loud enough for everyone in the restaurant to hear. Yes, we heard them perfectly clear, which is why no one except for me was trying to make eye contact with them. Apparently, this man bought her a $50,000 engagement ring. Poor guy, he made a bad judgment call. Why they chose this exact place at this exact time is a mystery to me, and I will spend the rest of my life not giving a damn. Behind me, close to the door, is an elderly couple enjoying a late night meal. From the second I walked in, those two did not utter a single word to each other, which led me to believe that they were communicating via telekinesis. Seriously, it was like a Stephen King movie! I was expecting Jack Nicholson to pop out of the men's room and hack me up! Though painful, I'm sure it would've been a cool way to die! How many people can say that they were murdered by Jack Nicholson?! Finally, to my left closest to the bathroom, sat an odd looking man with glasses eating a bowl of green soup. People like him piss me off. If you're going to eat in a restaurant, have the decency to order something you can't get at home! If all you're going to get is soup, go to the store and buy ten cans of the crap, it'll be cheaper in the long run! 

Of course, besides these interesting characters, there was my waitress with the singular brow which accentuated the gap in her teeth as well as her hairy mole, and the cook. Funny, I never got a good look at him! Maybe there was no cook, everything in this restaurant was precooked before we all got there! That's disgusting, all that food sitting around all day, getting cold, flies and other insects trying to get at it! Unless of course the waitress microwaves everything before serving, in that case it's perfectly acceptable. when she finally came back to refill my coffee, I was ready to place an order. I was going for the Chicken Marsala Sandwich! Sure, ordering pasta from a dive is a bad idea, but this was pasta on a sandwich! Where else in the world could you get this culinary combo of epic proportions?! My curiosity had gotten the better of me, however; I was so excited to order my sandwich that I didn't notice that a man had entered the diner. He came in, sopping wet from the rain, he was holding a gun directed right in my path!

I didn't see this until I turned around, which might not have happened if I had not seen my waitress' eyebrow turn into an upside down "v", clearly signifying something was wrong. I tuned around to find a bearded gentleman in a doodoo brown colored trench coat and a golfer hat to match it! The only thing menacing thing about his appearance was the .38 special he had in my face. "Stick's up!", he said. " Besides the waitress, I seemed to be the only one who looked terrified. Literally everybody was carrying like nothing happened! "C'mom, let's see your hands!", the robber said. "Please sir, don't shoot! I'm just a poor Methodist from Eagleville, Tennessee!", I frantically told him; and for reasons I'll never understand, this made his death glare more profound.  "A poor Methodist from Eagleville, Tennessee?! That's two things you got going against you boy! I want your money!" 

"I can't, I don't keep cash on me, just my card," I said plainly, "Well you can give me that can't you?!" I didn't know how to answer his question. At first I thought he was being sarcastic, but then I realized he was dead serious!

"Well, I could, but I don't see the point. All I'll do is cancel it after you're gone."

"So don't cancel it! I might want to buy something!"

"Yeah but that doesn't make sense!"

"Don't it?!"

"No?!"

It seemed like an eternity was spent staring at each other, when my eyes were stolen away by one of the most disturbing things to ever behold. While the gunman was staring me down, there came another man, dressed in nothing but a pair of tightie whities! He didn't so much run in, but rather flailed his way in the diner like a dead fish. While meandering back and forth, all eyes were fixed on this perplexed streaker, which is about friggin time! Seriously you people didn't bother to look up and see that my life was in jeopardy, but you all gawk and stare at this meth head's junk outlined in his underwear?! 

The sight before me was disturbing, yet fascinating all at the same time. As he was running the entire perimeter of the diner; with a haggard look in his eyes he kept uttering one simple, eloquent phrase: "Help me! Help me!" surprisingly, the waitress' demeanor, or eyebrow, shifted downward. "Not again!" This has happened more than once?! At that moment, I finally saw the cook when he busted out of the kitchen. Armed with an oversized butterfly net, he was ready to do battle! This scruffy little chef pursued the streaker with about as much tenacity as one would expect from someone pursing JFK's  assassin. One could argue he was overly aggressive, swinging his net like a club, not really caring if he hit any if the customers; divorce boy got clocked pretty bad. While the cook was unsuccessfully tried to stop him, the telekinetic old man stood up in a fit of angry confidence to shout "You gotta get him by the legs!" Relentlessly, the cook tried to pursue Mr. Tighty Whitie, but to no avail. He was slightly too fast for the mangy chef. This pursuit went on-and on-and on and on! It seemed to be starting over again and again for a solid thirty minutes. It went on so long that the robber had to sit for a spell, right next to me, 

I noticed the longer this continued, the more the robber and I began to provide commentary for this string of strange events. It's nice to know that a twacked out streaker can create a unique bonding experience between assailant and victim. Again, the movie was stuck on rewind and play. Everything from the "Help me! Help me!" to the "You gotta get him by the legs!" It repeated itself one more time, then the streaker was able to maneuver differently, hurling himself onto the counter, gaining speed away from the cook and running towards me, Through some weird twist of fate, or sheer coincidence, the streaker tripped, fell forward; and positioned his body in such a way that he gained some major air time; causing his body to spin so that his crotch was in a perfect place to land right on my-

I awoke almost immediately to the sweet sound of "Babe, babe, you alright?!" Then, it occurred to me: I wasn't at a roadside diner, I was at Hooters. My waitress didn't have a unibrow; in fact she was, well, endowed by he Creator with certain unalienable rights, and these were Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of Happiness. I was just dreaming; I fell asleep while studying my Econometrics textbook. I completely understand why I fell asleep. This is the kind of stuff I think about while dining alone, Crap, why am I taking this course anyway?