Untitled

By Kathy L

"I've lived next to Mr. Oliver P. Thornwalby for all of my 18 years, but I never 
could have imagined what he had in his basement. So I don't try, this neighborhood is 
strange enough as it is. I mean to the left of me is the haunted house that receives mail 
daily, at the end of the street there's the Universal Postal Service that takes up about a 
quarter of a mile around, and not to forget Mr. Doren's 200 foot cruise ship, the 
Hachiman, that he uses for his 'humble abode'. Personally I'd like to know how he got it 
here when the nearest inland body of water capable of holding it is 100 miles from here. 
Like I said, this place is a bit off.

"At least I can't complain about being bored. Oh no! Why didn't you tell me it's 
4 p.m.? I'm going to be late for work because of you! Some people, honestly, asking me 
what's in my neighbors' basement. Why don't you ask him yourself?" I snap at the 
newspaper reporter before kicking him off my deck as I dash down the street to the 
Sakura Café where I work as a waitress.

The small two story, sugar pink, café is never very full at this time of day but it 
keeps me and my fellow co-worker, Takeshi, busy until the rest of the evening crew 
come at 5 o'clock. I quickly apologize then get to work immediately. I've served two 
tables before the reporter from earlier shows up. "Not him again," I breathe to myself.

"What's wrong with the bloke?" Takashi asks coming to my side.

"He came over to my house to ask about Mr. Oliver P. Thornwalby's basement."

"How nosey," he states watching the reporter settle down at a window table, "Did  he even ask him?"

"Not that I know of," I answer before going over to the newshound and politely 
tell him," Sir, you can't sit at this table, it's our policy to save window tables for couples 
only. That's why they only have two seats per table and have that frilly look to them."

"What do you mean?" he asks anxiously then gestures at the rest of the café," There 
are other tables that couples can use elsewhere."

"Yes but people are going to look at you rather strangely if you don't have date 
coming. These are called 'Love Seats" for a reason."

"I guess that makes sense," he says grumbling then the young man repositions 
himself elsewhere in the café and I go on my merry way to get the order for a small group 
at a nearby table.

When I return with that table's orders I find the snoop at a different table pestering 
a couple for information about Mr. Oliver P. Thornwalby's basement. I was going to beat the 
creep up but I remembered I had people to serve and there was no fighting allowed in the café.

With that in mind I serve the paying customers and with my hands now free, I tap the 
reporter on his shoulder. "I'm not sure that you realize this is an eating establishment, sir,
" I start to tell him," And it would be most appreciated if you'd leave the customers alone, 
unless you wish to order something."

"Can't I ask a question or two?" he complains, probably thinking he finally has a lead 
on his story from these people.

"No."

"You sure?"

"Yep."

"Alright," the snoop returns to the table he was at before as my patience is 
wearing quite thin for the man.

As went to another table to clean up I noticed Takashi go over to the man and 
whisper something to him. From the utterly downcast look on the reporters' face I knew 
it had to be the answer he was looking for.

I just shake my head in wonderment, I just can't understand what's so great about 
Mr. Oliver P. Thornwalby's pickled vegetable collection.

The End.

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