Monologue #2
from Nicky Silver's The Food Chain

The instant I saw this monolouge, it was like it jumped up and bit me in the ass. It WAS ME. So natuarally I had to do it. And natuarally, everyone loved it. Try it if you're a really bitchy gal who never gets a date.

Well, I left my apartment. It was noon and it was a nice day, so I thought I'd walk to her house. She lives on 75th and Columbus, which I realize is a very long walk, but I thought the excercise would do me good - I hadn't eaten yet, so I stopped at the diner on my corner for some breakfast, and I picked up a newspaper so I'd have something to do.

I was reading my paper when the waiter comes up and asks me if I'm. . . alone. Well! It was obvious that I was alone! I was sitting there, in a booth, by myself - did he think I thouight I had an imaginary friend with me? I was alone!! Did he have to rub it in? Did he think that he was, in some way better than me? It was in his tone. He said, "Are you alone?", but what he meant to say was, "You're alone, aren't you?!" And I can't imagine that he isn't alone every single day of his miserable, pathetic life! He's got bad skin. And it isn't attractive. At least not in the way that bad skin, or the remnants of bad skin looks attractive on some people. On some men!! It's never attractive on a woman! Have you noticed that?! Just another example of the injustices we are forced to suffer. If we have bad skin, we're grotesque. Let a man have bad skin, and he can be Richard Burton for Christ's sake! I HATE BEING A WOMAN!!!

I've strayed.

The point is, this waiter has terrible skin, and greasy hair, and his breath stinks of something dead, and his face is entirely too close to mine, and he insults me with his breath and his tone of voice, and asks me if I'm alone. I feel my face go flush and I want to rip his head off! I'd like to pull his hair out, but I'd never get a descent grip - it looks like it hasn't been washed in a decade! I want to pick up my butter knife and stab in his sunken, caved-in chest! But! I simply respond, (grandly) "No. I'm married, thank you."

I realize, now, of couse, that my answer was illogical. I realize that it was innapropriate. But, at the time, it was all I could think of to say.

Well, he leans back, and really, in the most supercilious manner, leers at me and intones, "I meant, you are eating alone."


I don't know why I said what I said. I just said it. he made me sick. I hope that he dies!

Back to the Future!