Apple Pie and Coffee (standard:humor, 1629 words)
Author: Reid Laurence	Added: Apr 11 2007	Views/Reads: 3535/2182	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
How about all those people with them fancy college degrees? Are they really necessary in a world so riddled with chaos and disorder? Read on, and find out...

A man in his late forties - quite unremarkable in appearance - pressed
on the tempered glass, double doors of a bustling Chicago diner and as 
he did, was surprised to find that one of the doors in the pair did not 
open in the direction he wished it to move. Therefore, by this method 
of trial and error he entered, walked practically unnoticed to the 
counter and found solace in a stool which he gravitated to, more then 
likely because it offered seclusion at the end of the long counter in 
which he chose to sit. 

Eyeing a city newspaper that had been left on the counter by a previous
patron of the restaurant, he gathered up its many pages and began 
leafing through it - not so much for the knowledge therein, but more so 
for the privacy it offered him, behind the contents of its tall, black 
and white sheets which conveniently hid him from the rest of the 
clientele. 

Suddenly noticing this newly arrived customer, a waitress - both
physically fit from the exercise demanded by her position and youthful 
in demeanor - strode subtly toward this odd man and quaintly asked, in 
terms both endearing and plainly understandable, what it was he'd like 
to eat, or so it would seem, to most casual observers... “What'll it be 
mack?” she remarked, in a way people living in that large, busy city 
had heard many times before. And this curious, shy fellow answered by 
remarking, “uhhh... apple pie and coffee,” accompanied by a most 
puzzled expression on his ageing, weathered face. 

“Com'in up,” she replied, and in turning to walk away, she inadvertently
left him alone to his own devices - as he had been upon his arrival - 
and once again, opened the newspaper which only moments before had 
successfully shielded him from any innocent onlooker who may have 
glanced in his direction. 

Only a few brief minutes had passed on the clock which hung fast to one
of the restaurant walls before his ebullient server came back - pie and 
coffee in hand - and set them down before him in a most expedient 
manner. “That all ya want?” she followed up with, as anyone would have 
expected. But when all that was served up to her was a glance 
accompanied by a smile, she reiterated the question by probing yet 
further and asking, “is that it?” Upon having received no reply to her 
simple enquiry, she gave up on her customer, shook her head in 
displeasure, slammed a check on the counter and walked with meaning to 
some of the other, presumably hungrier patrons in her domain. 

Just as he was finishing eating the generous portion of apple pie, a
stranger sat down in the seat next to him, and noticing the newspaper 
laying between them on the counter, he nonchalantly asked, “hey buddy, 
you done with that paper?” But strangely enough, all that he received 
in response to his question was a brief smile and the warm but 
dissociated reply, “apple pie and coffee.” “Huh?” replied the man, and 
wondering if he'd been heard, asked again, “the paper bud... ya done 
with it?” But again, just as plainly as the first time, the only 
response was, “apple pie and coffee.” Now angry, feeling that he may 
possibly be the brunt of some bad joke, the newly arrived customer 
simply took what he felt was his for the taking, and with a triumphant 
stare directed at its former owner, gathered up the pages of the 
newspaper in his hand and began in earnest to read,  hardly taking 
notice that the man he'd been at odds with over it was now getting 
ready to leave the diner, just as quietly as he'd come in. 

Leaving the protection of his paper shield behind, this fellow of so few
words, dressed neatly in a plain black suit with white shirt, found 
himself staring at a sign above one of the city's many underground 
train entrances. Having resolved himself to the fact that the large 
white letters of the sign which read; WASHINGTON AVE meant next to 
nothing to him, he began the long trip down the concrete stairway and 
continued to walk until he'd reached the end of his journey, which 
seemed to be for the time being, the platform of the Washington avenue 
train stop. 

Standing in awe at what so many had taken for granted for so long, it
didn't take much time before someone - in fact, a young man in his 
early twenties - came along and without taking notice, bumped into the 
arm of the awestruck stranger. “Sorry dude,” he said, in response to 
what had happened. But when no reply came from the man he'd bumped into 
- other then a nervous smile and a look of apprehension - this same 


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