“Waiter, there is a hair in my soup!” The diner was a tall man who never really believed that he was tall.  The waiter strolled forward, a short man who always acted tall.  He leaned down close, seemingly too close, almost appeared to reach for a non-existent magnifying glass.  He declared, “Show me the offending impediment and I shall track it down from whence it came!”  The diner shrunk back as if a tortoise within it’s shell.  He replied as from within a portable cave, “There, there, don’t you see it!”  The waiter leaned in even closer, appeared to be about to lap from that bowl as if a cat, when he declared, “There she be!”  And to the diner’s astonishment the waiter brought his thumb and fore finger within the bowl, within the very physical existence of, the substance of, the soup itself and procured the hair.  The diner was astonished beyond words, and the waiter stalked off, saying, “I shall get to the bottom this travesty, wherever the trail may lead.”  This seemed to the diner perhaps a trifle melodramatic,  but perhaps not.

From within the kitchen a commotion ensued that signaled that ears were being pulled, and maybe butts where being kicked.  That perhaps the bottom was coming to the top.  Suddenly from within the kitchen sprung, not the waiter, but presumingly the chef, because he wore the Hat, and carried before him something that no chef should ever be seen carrying, two . . .  there is no other way to put this . . .  rats.  He carried them by their tails, and they seemed none too distressed.  And one of them seemed to, dare one say it, to smile at the diner.  And the other seemed to be . . . no, he couldn’t be doing that could he?  The chef peered at both as if trying to divine the gender of each or perhaps which was more . . . no, he couldn’t be doing that could he?  He finally settled his gaze upon the slightly grayer rat in his left hand and declared, “Herman, naughty, naughty, no goodies for you!”  He then, totally ignoring the diner, meandered back holding the impossibly festive rodents to what, where?  It couldn’t be back to the kitchen!  The diner exclaimed, “Well, I never!”  The waiter who was now standing close, bended slightly at the hips, hands behind his back, answered with great seriousness, “Well, sir, you ought to get out more.”

The diner threw down his napkin and declared, “This is an outrage.”  He marched out, not intending to pay, even if they sent the police after him.  He never looked back at the waiter and stalked for the nearest exit.  As he was about to make his escape, two gentlemen who seemed to be enjoying their meals accosted him, one of them even grabbed him by an arm and said, “Enjoy your meal, my good man?”  The diner replied, “I’m not your good man, and I most certainly did not!”  This brought an impossibly wide smile from both men.  Smiles that seemed somehow unnatural and vaguely sinister .  And even worse, something appeared to be stuck between the teeth of the man who had him by the arm. Was it wiggling?  This was too much.  The diner shook off the man’s hand and all but ran from the restaurant.  He vowed never to return.

Unfortunately, it didn’t quite work out that way.  That night the diner awoke from a nightmare that he couldn’t quite remember, but he knew that there was something stuck between his teeth.  He could feel it there.  Thankfully it wasn’t moving.  But it felt wrong, like something that shouldn’t be in anyone’s mouth at all.  The diner scrambled from his bed, stumbled into his bathroom and flipped on the light.  He closely examined his face in the mirror, but was terrified to open his mouth.  He somehow knew that once he did, his life would never be the same.  But in order to live he had to eat and in order to eat he had to open . . . and so he did.

Suffice it to say the diner became a regular at the restaurant, and his smile is now something that no non-regular should ever wish to see.  So if you ever  find a hair in your soup, leave immediately and never look back.

But perhaps it is already too late.  Don’t you sense something now.  Feel around with your tongue, isn’t there something?  No, it must be your imagination!  Or is it?