matir

Maître d’

“Table for 2.”

“Sorry, sir. That’s impossible without a reservation.”

“Oh, yeah? How about now?”

The man slid the maître d’ a panini.

“Still impossible, sir.”

“Oh, yeah? How about now?”

The man slid the maître d’ a pamphlet on how to eat a panini.

“Still impossible, sir.”

“Oh, yeah? How about now?”

The man slid the maître d’ a pamphlet on how to really eat a panini.

“You know what? A table has just opened up.”

The maître d’ slid the panini and the pamphlets secretively into his sleeve.

“Here’s your table,” said the maître d’. “When will your guest be joining you?”

“Never. I get tables for two so I can have double the plates, glasses, and cutlery.”

“You’re a smart man.”

“I better be. I invented portable cheesecake. Before me you couldn’t move it.”

“Wow. It’s an honor, sir. Allow me to buy your first drink. What will you have?”

“The hottest soda you have with a lime that thinks it’s a lemon.”

The panini in the maître d’s sleeve felt warm against his arm. He hoped it wouldn’t taste like arm when he finally ate it, but it did.

galiba evim lanetli. her tamirde parcasi degisen kombinin haftada bir bozulmasinin baska aciklamasi olamaz cunku. ya da yatir matir bisey var. zaten alt katta daire yok yatir varsa muhatabi direkt benim yani.