Deborah 12

I shake my head a bit, to try and clear the mist from my eyes. Directly across from me sits a Native man, at least 70 pounds overweight. Clothes scream Prod clergy. To my right, sits a Native women, who looks kind. To my left, an empty chair.
Churning with impatience, the man snorts, "we've stalled enough, waiter is throwing us dirty looks, time to order." Waves to the waiter.
A young Native man approaches, pleasant tone, "ready to order sir?"
"I'm afraid our fourth person was detained at the Dragon again. I want the 16 ounce steak, medium rare, baked potato with bacon bits sour cream and butter, French fries and garlic toast. But use unsalted butter on the potato and toast, have to watch my blood pressure."
It's all I can do not to laugh.
The waiter turns to the woman, who says cheerfully, "fish and chips please."
The waiter's eyes are now on me. "Salad plate please."
The waiter actually gasps and the clergyman roars with laughter.
Kindly the woman says, "Deb, you've forgotten the history. Only reason they put that salad on the menu, that big demonstration from the Animal Rights people. Now if you order salad, the cook'll hate you, hafta go across the street, buy lettuce in the store."
By now the waiter's laughing, "to say nothing of him threatening to run away and join the Foreign Legion, a deathly insult like that."
By now I've somewhat placed myself. Since all other faces in this diner are Native, I presumably am too. When in Rome.
I give a goofy grin, "oh come on, can't you tell a joke when you hear one? I'll have the five ounce steak sandwish - bison - medium."
"Your choice of French fries or baked potato with that."
"French fries please."
I see obvious looks of approval all around, the joke/insult forgotten.
The man sounds deathly boring, but I'd far rather anyone but me talk. I wouldn't know what to say, don't even know who I am.
He rattles on about the evils of Demon Rum and how my fiance is a total jerk, for standing me up like that, and yes for standing me up the last six times. "Undoubtedly he'll have some nonsense story of the drywall crew working overtime. We all know they never work OT on Thursday, Friday or Saturday. Whole lotta them, in the Dragon, getting stinko."
He winces, as if kicked under the table, moves along to the doings of his congregation. Membership is a way up recently; however financial resources have not kept pace, as most newcomers are somewhat poor.
The woman actually rolls her eyes. I can catch her message, nothing more tedious than a former drunk.
It's an ordinary diner, not licensed for liquor, with a big screen TV showing a hockey game. Even though I'm not a sports fan, I can still tell it's a deadly dull game.