Naked Lunch

N A K E D  L U N C H

by Gert Vanlerberghe

The situations you tend to come across when having lunch in a small restaurant. What follows is a conversation I overheard only yesterday, around 1pm, while enjoying a Cesar salad.

- I'm sorry, sir, but this is outrageous!
- What is?
- You're completely naked! I cannot tolerate this behaviour.
- Why, it's not a behaviour.
- I cannot and will not tolerate this, sir.
- This what? Good God, try to use a more or less adequate term for the things you'd like to express, man. Being naked is not a behaviour. Not at all. It's a state of being. A condition.
- Consider this. You're sitting naked in my restaurant. I'm not going to discuss terminology with you. I suggest that you put your clothes back on before ordering lunch, sir.
- What makes you think I was wearing any clothes before?
- Well, you must have been wearing something. At least at some point back in time.
- Interesting. But tell me, sweet sir, did you even see me enter your restaurant?
- No, I was busy serving other customers. For all I know you came falling from the sky.
- It's such a typically Western way of thinking. Just because I'm currently not wearing a single piece of clothing, you automatically assume I was wearing something before.
- Well, why aren't you wearing any clothes in the first place?
- It's rather warm outside.
- It's 21°C. Half an hour ago, while having a smoke on the pavement, I spotted an old gentleman wearing a bloody suit. And you're suggesting that you're so hot that you had to take all your clothes off? In order to be able to eat a bloody salad?
- I already told you that my not wearing any clothes now does not necessarily mean that I was fully dressed one hour ago. Besides, please do not get rude on me. This might after all be a rather important, and, may I say so, decisive, visit for you.
- Just what are you suggesting? Is this the brand new uniform of the health inspection? Do mystery shoppers go bare when they assess the customer friendliness of waiters, nowadays?
- I'm neither the one nor the other, but I am a private eye. And since I didn't want to draw too much attention...
- Let me get this straight. Your being nude wouldn't draw any attention? Get out of here!
- Tom Waits used to do it.
- No, he didn't.
- Then it was the other one.
- What other one?
- Garfunkel. Simon.
- Get out of my restaurant, or I'll call the cops on you.
- Why is it bothering you this much anyway? My private parts are completely hidden under the table.
- Get! Out!
- I wrote a poem the other day. Wanna hear it?
- Will you get out?
- Come to think of it. I wrote it today.
- I'm warning you.
- From the tears of the moon / Not a single reflection...
- Right. That's it. The final straw.
- Not that I want to cause a fuss or anything, but what does a man have to do to get a salad around here? Christ! If I wanted to have a plate of small talk, I would have had lunch with my bloody parents!
- Now, they wouldn't tolerate your showing up naked at their Sunday lunch, now, would they?
- Why, of course not! My father is a tailor. It would only hurt his feelings, you know. Quite a strong statement to show up naked at my old folks' place then, isn't it? Good heavens, man, where is your sense of subtlety?
- It disappeared the moment I saw the sweaty print of your hairy arse on my expensive chair.
- Oh, witty. Clever. Bravo! Very subtle and all that. Now could I get the menu or will you just keep on hovering around for another half an hour?
- It depends on your state of being, sir. I'm not serving food to fat naked guys.
- Too bad. Your loss. Maybe at McDo they will be more understanding. But first let me get my clothes back on. Good afternoon, sir.