In which I generate five random story dice and create a short story out of it. See the full list of stories HERE.
Terry could not believe she said yes. She honestly seemed excited when he told her where they were going. When she gave him a list of what she was into after they matched online, Terry was perplexed to say the least. His match, Lisa, wanted the following out of their dinner date spot:
- Fun, but eclectic with a “dose of nostalgia”
- Not fancy, but clean
- Somewhere with a lot of people (She noted her love of the sound of “busy;” whatever the fuck that meant
- Somewhere cheap (As she said, “it’s just a first date – no need to break the bank”)
- And finally, somewhere that will make her laugh upon reveal
Terry kept their initial conversation fun and flirty. Secretly, he stressed about what location could encompass all of those extremely specific things. To him, it seemed like a really tall order. Lots of expectations. He ended their first chat exchange with a promise to reveal their date spot a few hours before he picked her up. She lived only twenty minutes in the neighboring town, so he began looking through Google Maps and Yelp to find a spot that fit the exact description of clean, nostalgic, and cheap. About five minutes into his search, he found it: Country Time Buffet.
The restaurant sat tucked away in the corner of a shopping center he sometimes went to for his dog’s speciality food. The reviews were okay for a buffet of its vintage. The pictures inside reminded him of going to Old Country Buffet with his family as a kid. It hit all the points that Lisa wanted and more. The gold-tinted buffet islands. The outdated menu selection with familiar favorites the whole family could enjoy. A website with only the address and business hours listed (in Courier font no less). The early-1990s carpet that probably hadn’t been replaced in years, if at all. The only thing he wasn’t quite sure of was the cleanliness. A few of the reviews on Yelp pointed to that. He hoped “not fancy” was more important than a place being ostensibly clean.
Terry picked up Lisa at 6:30 pm. They got Starbucks and drove around for a bit to get to know one another. Terry loved her bubbly personality. She even managed to laugh at a few of his jokes. They arrived at Country Time Buffet around 7:15 pm. When they walked in, the place was almost completely empty. Lisa giggled with excitement as Terry payed in advance for their admission into the buffet. There were five separate buffet areas oriented in a giant “U” shape. Terry noticed a booth in the back with a group of kids, likely the owners’, working on schoolwork while an older woman vacuumed the aging carpet in an empty seating area near them.
“So, yeah, I guess we can pick a booth and go at it,” he said. The half smile he gave Lisa was one of half-confidence. He would never dream of taking a first date to a three-star buffet in the back of a strip mall. But here they were, and she still had a smile on her face. That had to account for something.
They sat down briefly in a booth near the front entrance to set their coats down. In their hands, they already had their drink cups and their first plate. The woman at the register in the front, likely the matriarch of the family business, made it a point to hand out the first plate because “they had been discouraging people to come in with tupperware and eat us out of business.” So, it seemed it was a modestly priced Buffett ($15.75 got you entrance to the good eats with all the soda, water, or tea you wanted). Coffee was oddly extra.
After a few more careless chit-chats about their strategy, Lisa touched Terry’s arm and made her way to the salad section. Terry headed to the soup first. Growing up in the northeast, soup was a way of life for nearly the entire year. You ate your chowder when it was cold out, and you still had it in the summer to savor the best catch from the Atlantic. He grabbed a bowl from the side of the soup stand adjacent to the salad station and placed it on his first plate. He glanced over at Lisa busily arranging a series of healthy toppings onto a bed of romaine lettuce.
He looked down at the steaming circles and saw the three soup options, all uncovered and blistering in the heat from the yellow lamp above it: broccoli cheddar, some sort of chicken noodle, and New England clam chowder. Terry thought none of the options looked good. He glanced over at the salad bar to find it empty. Lisa was already back at her seat and on her phone, waiting for Terry to return to start eating. He looked around at the other four parties seated around the large dining area. Nobody had soup. Was that a coincidence. He was about to exit the area when the woman who took his money came up from behind him.
“What’s wrong?” She said in an elevated tone. Her brow furrowed. “Are you not hungry?”
“No, it’s not that,” he said, “I was just wondering if I wanted soup or not.” He felt that was a good enough lie to get him a quick exit out of the soup and into some healthy greens. The lady grabbed his soup bowl and ladled a large amount of soup from the third selection.
“You do. Here, try the clam chowder. I made it fresh today.” Terry wasn’t so sure, because there was a slick of oil on the top that was so thick he thought America might invade it. The lady gave him a smile that felt uncomfortable and walked back into the kitchen. Terry grabbed a packet of oyster crackers and headed towards the table.
When Terry got back to the table, Lisa quickly set her phone down and greeted him with her smile.
“Shall we eat,” she exclaimed as she bit into her first few bites of salad. Terry smiled back, staring down at his soup-adjacent liquid contained in his tan plastic bowl. The bowl had a small hole on one side, just in case you wanted to chug the chunks like a hot lemon tea.
He took his first bite as he talked to her about his job. He choked through it as he got to the point of discussing the finer parts of defense consulting. The soup tasted even oilier than it looked. The chunks of clam tasted somehow like wet pearl onions. He wasn’t exactly sure if they were even thawed from their frozen state yet. Definitely from a can. The lady was correct in saying the soup was made that day. She never said it was any good. It was not. But he continued to chat with Lisa as he politely finished the bowl.
After they talked for a few more minutes, they realized their first course was done. Time for the main show. They walked together up to the buffet area together and grabbed a plate. This time, they both walked through the hot food section together, chatting as they selected from the usual assortment of homestyle favorites like green beans, mashed potatoes, fried chicken and meatloaf. She was heavy on the green beans. He went heavy on the meatloaf for some reason. Once again, none of it looked promising.
Terry felt the first twinge in his stomach about four bites into his main course. It couldn’t have been the food he ate earlier. He never ate heavy on the day of a date. He did the mental gymnastics in his head and thought all that he had that day: two eggs, a cliff bar, and a small bag of chips from his work’s vending machine. No. This had to be the damned clam chowder with the barely edible clams from the Exxon Valdez spill. He cleared his throat a few times and kept eating. The lady came by and took their plates from the first course and refilled their iced tea and water glasses.
“How did you like the chowder?”
“It was fantastic. Just like home.” Terry knew that she knew he was fucking with her, despite his best impression of politeness. Her smile quickly turned to a frown. He thought he saw a bit of disgust.
“Well, just a reminder, we close at 8:30 sharp, so don’t sit in here all night eating all this good food.”
“Will do, m’am,” Lisa said with a pleasant gaze that brought back the lady’s smile. All the while, the low murmurs in his stomach became a full blown growl. By the time he finished his serving of mashed potatoes and half the meatloaf, the pain from his stomach traveled up into his chest and nearly through the esophagus. Whatever was in there wanted to leave. Now. He couldn’t tell if he was sweating or not, but he sure felt like it.
“Will you…p..please excuse me,” he stuttered to her.
“Oh, sure. Are you okay?” She seemed genuinely concerned as she finished up her plate of vegetables.
“Yeah, no. I am good. Just need to wash up real quick.” Of course everyone knows when you say “yeah, no,” it really just means just “no.” Also, washing up in your second plate of food was insane. He knew it. She probably knew it. But he did’t have time to explain more. He had to get to the bathroom.
Terry sprinted towards the back corner of the restaurant to a swinging door. There was only one restroom with a single toilet and it was occupied. He banged on the door as the clam chunks began to rise.
“PLEASE. .PL..HRRRRRR…EASE…” I need to go to the bathroom.” He banged on it a few more times. He gagged even more.
“HEY! Just a minute buddy.” It sounded like an older gentleman was in there. He wasn’t sure what the bathroom would look like. The place was relatively clean, but even relatively clean places that have bathrooms that look like the scene from Trainspotting. At this point, he didn’t care. He would blow chunks in a fucking Christmas stocking if he had one.
Three minutes later, a short older man with thick glasses walked out of the restroom. “Here you go, asshole. Take your time, buddy.” Terry didn’t even acknowledge him. By now, the full-on flop sweat started to soak into his dress shirt. He stormed into the restroom and immediately expelled the tea, chowder, mashed potatoes, and whatever meatloaf he managed to put into his body into the toilet. It felt like hot rocks were shooting out of his mouth. He could taste everything as it came up, which made him throw up even more. He finished his vomit session with a few whimpers and spits into the toilet about three minutes later.
After flushing away the evidence, he cleaned himself up as best he could in the mirror. Terry splashed water on his face to get some color back. It didn’t work. He stayed in the bathroom for a few more minutes to compose himself. He knew he wasn’t going to eat. He would instead ask the woman for a coffee cup. Hell, he’d even pay for it. They couldn’t fuck up coffee, right?
He exited the restroom about twelve minutes after first entering his vomit-fest. Lisa was not there. A short note written in pencil on a napkin now sat where her finished plate of food was. Terry could only laugh after reading it.
“Terry – this was fun, but really? A fucking buffet? I wanted nostalgic, not trashy. Don’t break the bank, but damn…not here boo. I’m sure you are a nice guy, but this isn’t it. Better luck next time, kiddo. Thanks for the mediocre food. Hope you found whatever you are looking for in there. You didn’t look so hot before you left. My girlfriend picked me up. I was texting her the minute we got in. You did make me laugh, though. Ciao.”
Terry stared at the note for a few more minutes before the lady came back around to collect the plates.
“Are you all alone now?” She asked. There was now a smug look of satisfaction on her face he didn’t like.
“I am. I guess it wasn’t meant to be.”
“It never was,” she said as she walked away with the empty plates.
Terry thought about just getting up to leave when he suddenly felt the urge for some dessert. How bad can defrosted cheesecake be anyway?
He had three pieces before heading home. The lady gave him a cup of coffee. On the house.
“Shut the door, Ted,” he said. Trump proceeded to take his shirt off and add it to the small pile of clothes on the floor. His look was strong and determined.
Delusional Thoughts From Fantasy Island 