One Day Short - 6:46 p.m.

America Makes You Forget

Mr. Oaf had a toothache. It was just one of a host of maladies that took over while he was on holiday – bad back, sciatica, blisters, aching feet – but it was the one that was giving him the most trouble. He and Mrs. Oaf were in a coffee shop called Canteen on Seventh Avenue. It’s a 24 hour joint that serves cocktails all the time and attracts a different kind of customer, the kind of people who come in with $10 and want a full breakfast although a cup of coffee costs $4 all on its own.

Anyway, Mr. Oaf had his hand on the left side of his mouth trying to ignore the pulse pulse, pulse of his aching molar and was listening to the woman at the next table explain to the bald waiter that what she wanted was breakfast but all she had was $10. The waiter explained that she could maybe have an omelet and a glass of water. I want a coffee too, the woman said. Well, the waiter replied, that’s more than $10. The woman looked upset and went back to examining the menu.

Just then, Mr. and Mrs. Oaf’s waitress came over and placed two cups of coffee in front of them and asked – so have you folks made up your minds? Mr. Oaf could barely raise his head from the table as he needed to keep pressure on the molar, but he caught sight of the waitresses bare arm. She had an intricate series of tattoos that looked like a delicate lace sleeve.

But what really caught Mr. Oaf’s attention was the waitress’s voice. It was quite deep, but somehow very feminine, and the gentle way she asked the question was compelling. Mr. and Mrs. Oaf ordered their breakfasts and as the waitress walked away. Mr. Oaf tried to raise his head to look at the face of someone who would own a voice like that but the pain was too intense.

After a few minutes the food arrived and the waitress said something like “there you go, hope its all ok” and Mr. Oaf suddenly realised that the voice was that of an angel – the voice of a winged servant of God who would give you directions on the road to Heaven. I am a useless sinner who has lost his way – which way to the palace of Jehovah? Why my good man, it’s just over that hill – would you like fries with that?

It was only after this realisation that the pain from the tooth suddenly and inexplicably faded away. Mr. Oaf ate up his blueberry pancakes and rejoiced that he had finally found the road to righteousness. Then something very strange happened. Mrs. Oaf ordered a macchiato from a bus boy who is, as you will no doubt be aware, not technically in the position to accept orders from customers. He may pass them on, but he may not take them. He is a bus boy. The demarcation is very clear but we were from “out of town” and we didn’t know. The bus boy looked frightened but nodded and ran off.

A few minutes later, the bald waiter returned to the woman at the next table to see if she had finally made up her mind about her $10 breakfast. She ordered a coffee and nothing else and, after having overheard our confusion with the macchiato order with the bus boy, she instructed the bald waiter that we had ordered a coffee as well. The bald waiter was very confused. It wasn’t that it was hard to understand, it was that just that he didn’t know what she was talking about. What – he asked – what coffee? What macchiato? The woman tried to explain but used odd, disconnected words and the bald waiter became even more confused. What? he kept asking, what are you talking about? Mr. Oaf explained the situation and the bald waiter seemed to get it. We had ordered a macchiato from the bus boy. Had he received the order? Yes, he said, it was all taken care of.

The coffees arrived – including the macchiato – and everything seemed ok. That was what America was like, Mr. Oaf thought, everybody talking the same language but nobody seeming to understand what anyone else was actually saying. This was obviously mock-profound, but it seemed to fit the situation perfectly. Inexplicably, Mr. Oaf’s tooth ache came back with such force that he had to run out of the restaurant in pain.

“Have a nice day,” the bus boy said.

“You too,” said Mr. Oaf.

bears in history - future bears

“This diary cracked me up, completely, perhaps the oddest diary I have ever read. I'm not sure if it's a takeoff on something or someone that I have somehow missed. Regardless, TEZNEZCO! chronicles the adventures of two bears and describe them as if they are a minority of some sort. The writing is disturbingly matter-of-fact as if it is perfectly normal to be writing about these bears as people. I like it; it's pleasantly novel" - Diaryreview

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