The decision has been made at work that we're required to dress up tomorrow night, in honor of it being the Saturday-Before-Halloween. Apparently we're all going to be pirates. Needless to say, I'm not exactly thrilled about donning a scarf and boots just to seat people so they can eat their pizza and laugh at us, but whatever. I get that we're just trying to spread some cheer. Or something.
A few of us were talking about it last night, and trying to figure out how on earth to dress up without actually having to dress up, when I jokingly told my coworker that he should put a fake parrot on his shoulder. This led him to confess that at one time in his life, he owned 72 birds. Among which were 5 cockateels and 1 parrot.
72 birds.
As the evening wore on, and conversations had run amok as they usually do, it had been unofficially decided we were switching from pirates to hippies. Unofficial meaning by the time I left, everyone was so muddled and unsure, that the term "Hippy Pirate" was coined to describe our costume guidelines. I guess I'll find out tonight exactly what that means.
I was busing one of the booths last night and I couldn't help but overhear a phrase uttered by a customer in the adjoining booth. "I didn't get your inside joke to Darci." A thousand questions immediately poured into my thoughts. I carefully observed the situation. A wife, a husband, and their tweenage daughter. Judging by the length of time it took for the husband to respond to his wife's unsettling question, I jumped to the ultimate conclusion that he was having a lurid affair.
Who else could Darci be? Maybe Darci was a coworker. An old flame. An old friend who was really much more than that. Where had they been that the wife was in the same surroundings as Darci? A work party? A soccer game? Was Darci the babysitter?
I looked for a moment at the young girl's face. I looked away and left the table shiny and wet behind me.
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