Rushed though he was, the server said that it would be possible to set aside a table for this oddly-named customer. The room was nearly full and the server was performing well beyond the limits of what can reasonably be expected from a human being. He scanned the room and, as luck would have it, saw a table that was unoccupied. Since seven o’clock would be at hand in less then an hour, he made a mental note not to seat anyone at the vacant table--as if he didn’t already have enough to be concerned with at the moment.
Spirit, he thought, what a stupid name. Who would have the audacity christen themselves so ridiculously over a dinner reservation?--as if John or Barbara or Smith or Zabrieski were too corporeal and somehow disrespectful of the eternal wonderfulness of the elevated plane upon which this potential eater of sushi resides. Not only am I drowning, he thought, but I’m soon to add a couple of stupid hippies to the thirty-odd cretins whose happiness already hinges upon my ability to juggle like some super-famous clown (if super-famous clowns existed, he couldn’t be sure. Wikipedia was far away and even if he were fortunate enough to own a fancy data phone, he would be far too pressed for time to pull the device from his pocket and thumb “super-famous clowns” into the browser’s search bar. So, unable to conduct such research, for the sake of convenience, the server adopted the notion that there must be clowns that may not be famous as far as the general public is concerned, but could nevertheless be considered super-famous in clowning circles). The real kicker was that these hippies, vapid lot they are, would most likely be completely oblivious to the busyness around them and plague the server with innumerable questions concerning in order to insure that their meal would be prepared in a manner approved of by hippies (oblivious also to the fact that this business is such that the owner puts profit far above all else). In other words, they would be completely stoned.
The server couldn’t imagine that this Spirit would arrive with much of an appetite. Have you ever seen something without a body sit down to a gigantic meal? Small checks equal small tips equals not worth the pain of having to deal with customers. (If you think that's harsh, ask yourself this: Would you look at a hippie for two dollars?) What use would Spirit have for earth food anyway? Perhaps this Spirit would want to order items not available on the menu, like milk and honey or manna.
As seven o’clock neared the server, having heard over the past weeks several of his coworkers recount frightening scenes from the popular movie Paranormal Activity, had a sudden change of opinion. What if Spirit was not a hippie, but a ghost returning to the sushi bar to exact revenge for poor or rude service he had received while still alive? That would be nearly as bad as having to wait on a hippie. The server put on his mental track suit and took a jog through recent memory. The number of people he had wronged during his brief tenure at the restaurant was staggering--he made enemies like Wilt Chamberlain took on sex partners. Now that one among of them had shuffled off the plane in which sushi plays an important role, he would return in ghost form in order to sate his desire for vengeance. As the minute hand ticked closer and closer to seven o’clock, the server became more and more certain that the scenario would play out in this manner: The ghost would enter, suck out his soul, and leave without tipping.
The strain was becoming too much. It taxed his ability to concentrate, which was already stretched to the limit. The thought that he might not get to do all in life he had dreamed of doing, like going home and putting a couple good hours into Uncharted 2, was starting to become unbearable. He would have to ask Julie, the front counter person, if there was anything suspicious about the phone call from Spirit. He left the busy dining room and walked to the front of the restaurant.
The server rehearsed in his mind the questions he would ask:
SERVER: Hey. Was there anything, uh, suspicious about that call from Spirit?
JULIE: Suspicious? What do you mean?
SERVER: Well, did he go woooooooooo or anything?
But when he rounded the corner, the register was unoccupied. Julie was nowhere to be found. It was as if she were never there. The server, now badly shaken, returned to the dining room. His only option was to re-examine the slip of paper upon which the reservation had been written.
But that, too, was gone.
Spirit never showed up. It turned out that Julie was in the bathroom and the slip of paper was under some receipts that had accumulated during the rush.
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