The Wrong Eggs . . .

Left home: 7:05 AM | Arrived at Norm's: 7:40 AM
My first day at Norm's, writing before work.

I just screwed up my waitress by taking my eggs over-easy, despite having ordered them scrambled. These were someone else's eggs. I'm eating the eggs of a girl with curly damp hair.

The short-order cook and the waitress are bickering loudly, now, and it's all my fault. I may not be able to follow my scheme and stay here a full hour...

They pressured me into getting the full bargain breakfast, which is two of everything, and is like seven bucks, all said. That was not the plan.

I'm gonna nibble on my hash-browns. They are my wall against needing to vacate this booth. They're my ASTRO-SMASH energy-shield, and I'm slowly shooting it from the underside.

For this metaphor to play out, the staff of NORM'S would need to be periodically eating my hash-browns from the other side.

The sign says they have free wifi here, but it appears to be password locked. Perhaps tomorrow, I'll ask for the password; certainly not today, when I've caused the waitress and the cook to bicker.

One Colorful Collar-full . . .
There's a wifi access point called "Free Public Wifi." It doesn't work. It never will.

The likelihood of me asking for the password has decreased to approximately 15%: the waitress just said to another customer, "I don't know what's wrong with the cook today." She took away my pancake plate and filled my bitter coffee. Tomorrow, I will order just two scrambled eggs.

It's 8:12 AM, the day after clocks jumped ahead one hour, and I feel like they want me to leave. This is crazy talk. Head down. Keep typing on your little powder-blue Muppet-baby laptop, friend.

"Free Public Wifi" has vanished again, leaving only "Norms Westwood." The chances of me asking for a password have increased to approximately 35%.

If the cashier smiles, I will ask.

The cook has a round face and in wearing a chef's hat and a white plastic bib apron. I can see the colorful collar of a Hawaiian shirt.

Hawaiiian has an amazing run of vowels. Especially when you add too many i's.

Feeling Unwelcome . . .
It's 8:30. I'm thinking, I get up at 8:45. I pay my bill. I go.

They've stopped topping off my coffee.

Am I ballsy enough to do this day after day?

Coffee Refill . . .
They refilled my coffee and inexplicably said, "Thank you." It seemed like they couldn't think of anything else to say.

The Time Hath Come . . .
Okay. I'm going to finish this cup of coffee, pay my bill, and go home.

And by home, I mean, to work.

P.S.
I got the password.

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