322

“Are you kidding me?” He shouted, his voice careening off the walls at Soupe du Jour. “Thirteen dollars for a freakin’ cup of soup?”

“Grandpa, calm down, it’s my treat.” Isa stammered hurriedly. The waitress’ face was Christmas red, her lips pulled together in a shriveled line.

“No, no, no! This is stealing. No one should pay that much for soup!” He slammed his wallet down on the table, shaking his finger at her. “I used to be able to take my wife out to get dinner, see a movie, and go somewhere for coffee afterwards all for seven eighty-five. This is criminal.” His blue eyes flashed.

“Well sir, you’ll have to take it up with my manager. I don’t make the prices.” The waitress said stormily, her dark eyes flashing back at him.

“Well just you go and get him.” Came the demanding reply. Isa pulled at her earring and grimaced.

“Grandpa, its fine. You don’t need to make a big deal out of it, okay? I want to have a nice lunch with you, not have a confrontation with some manager.” She frowned.

“No. They’re going to hear my complaint. Nobody should have to pay thirteen dollars for soup.” He crossed his arms stubbornly. Isa sighed.

“There’s some old crank out there who wants to talk to you about our prices.” Abigail knocked at Mr. Beal’s open office door. “Do you want me to ask him to leave?”

Her boss sighed. “No, I’ll go talk to him. After all, our generation owes his that much respect.” Mr. Beal walked calmly out into the restaurant, smiling weakly. “Hello sir, how can I help you?” He said to Isa’s grandfather. Just then a masked man entered the restaurant and threw grenades at everything and the entire place went up in flames, making this entire story irrelevant.

Aka, I’m very tired and I just want to go to sleep for a thousand years.