The Waiter
The waiter spoke three languages, and I couldn’t help but feel inferior. He excused himself every now and then to squawk a rubber chicken into the microphone before making an announcement, which was a relief, because before realising what he was doing we had thought we were the only patrons able to hear the mysterious chicken. I remember thinking, now it all makes sense. Then I thought, wait, why does that man have a rubber chicken?
Sometimes people are the same. We try to explain what we see, forgetting to ask why we are seeing it.
