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biscuits

Arjun Earthperson

    Drip – a cold droplet lands on my left shoulder, condensate from the overhead AC vent. It’s 90° outside. The beating sun seems to have lulled out the humdrum of weekend rush-hour service at this indoor-outdoor diner. Inside, at the bar, next to said AC vent, between the drink menus that rest on the comically bright orange walls, a large sign instructing you to be nice, and one yet larger, announcing that Black Lives Matter. If it weren’t for the cocktail mixes on the shelves, one could just as easily be convinced that they are back in kindergarten – being reminded to practice basic human decency as they sit in their high-chairs patiently awaiting their meal and drink.
    On either corner of the bar, affixed to the walls, dated TV sets. One that plays classic cartoons on-repeat and the other, the news. Today it’s a shifty-eyed governor DeSantis and his posse holding a press conference about the tragic condo collapse. Both Wiley Coyote and DeSantis look like they could use a drink.
    Drip. Left shoulder again. Except by now, a menu has appeared. I ask for a latte and some grits with eggs. With the operational efficiency of a naval sub taking new diving orders, tickets are printed, radioed to the kitchen, and crew dispatched. In this frenetic energy, I can’t help but notice the peculiarities of their uniform, each private a woman wearing booty shorts and a T-shirt. Amused, I look around. Yes, it seems that when it comes to passive entertainment, this diner has it distilled down to a science – from cartoons, to the news, to this – something for every generation. I find myself getting nervous about the quality of the food.
    In no time, the latte arrives, along with water and a biscuit. Drip. Forehead this time. Faux sweat, I think, as I rip a shred from the biscuit and put it on my tongue. It tastes good. Relieved, I wipe the droplet off and make a move for the latte. To my right is a couple who can’t seem to reach a consensus about their favorite coffee shop in town – the latte tastes delicious. ‘It’s between Jubala or Cup-A-Joe’ – the matter finally settled, with each side agreeing to have the other’s favorite in the running. To my left, a woman well informed about IVF and hopeful of getting in touch with her doctor to get the procedure soon. My eyes wander to the TV – Bugs Bunny, holding a phone, mouthing his characteristic phrase.
    If you pay closer attention, you’ll notice a busy restaurant is much like a battleground – or more aptly, a multi-celled organism fighting off an infection. Many disparate entities, imperfectly communicating, losing assets from time to time, sometimes due to friendly fire. But as long as they can hold that line, that onslaught of unrelenting invasion, then the job is considered done. And then the medic crew arrives, salvaging what can be saved and discarding what can’t – ultimately preparing for another day’s battle as the sun begins to set.
    Drip. This time straight into the grits, which had made an entrance while I was busy amusing myself over the possibility of this restaurant being algae – it sure seems to have the moisture for it.

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