Waiting for a Hamburger

A Story by Plasminus

A psychological race between two customers waiting for the delivery of a hamburger.

With only 200 Norwegian Kroner left in my pocket, I ordered a hamburger with bacon, cheese, gherkin, chips, and an apple juice, which would just about cover it. In one-hour-twenty I had to be at the airport so my fingers were tapping like a centipede on the table.

The waiter sauntered off taking orders along the way. It was bustling with people, but on my left the table was empty. Then a man sat down.

   He practically ordered the same meal as me. He was slightly unshaven, with hair and head like a pineapple, and a bit of a jumpy fellow.
   I waited at least 20 minutes for my food.
   When the waiter arrived with two hamburgers, he went straight passed and put one down at a far table. He came back with the other. The guy next to me moved his knife and fork aside as if he were clearing a runway. The waiter put my food down in front of me. My next-door neighbour looked surprised and with a big sigh, asked the waiter if the hamburger was not in fact his. No, the waiter said, it was mine. The prickly fellow then asked the waiter why it was taking so long anyway. The waiter explained in Norwegian but I didn’t understand.
   I squeezed ketchup onto my plate and began eating. The fellow looked at me as if it was his food I was eating by mistake. It was very uncomfortable. He was like a dog, watching, as dogs do, with an enormous amount of intent. If I’d tossed a potato onto the floor he’d probably have chased after it.
   I was in a hurry but he seemed to be in a bigger hurry. Before his plate had landed on the table he was already eating a chip. Not soon after, he was forking unhealthy amounts of food into his mouth. As he did, he kept turning his head sideways, looking at me and my plate like a swimmer checking to see if the person in the next lane is in front or not. Of course I was ahead but he was determined to catch up.
   I was in no mood for a race though - at the very least, I wanted to enjoy what I was eating.
   Because I knew I didn’t have an awful lot of time, I asked for the bill with at least 5 chips still to go. The simpleton next to me (I don’t know if he heard me) asked the waiter for his bill too. He still had half a plate in front of him! Perhaps he had an appointment with the Prime Minister or something.
   I put the 200 Krona on the table while my mouth was still full of chips. My neighbour seemed to be fumbling in his pocket for a note or two himself but he was holding a fork in his mouth at the same time. He was determined to finish this meal first as if to prove a point about receiving his hamburger second. I felt strangely entangled in this little hot-head’s power struggle, like a big fly accidentally landing in the web of a small spider. All I needed to do was pull my coat on and leave. The change could be left for the waiter as a tip. I was relieved to have finished first, although why I’d worked myself up who knows.
   So I got up to leave and pulled my coat on. But now, all of a sudden, the miserable little jockey next door, transformed his attitude. Maybe he’d resigned himself to losing - an honourable defeat. He stretched back and showed not a hint of his earlier haste. Perhaps he was doing this to spite me. He threw a cynical smile as I went out the door.
   It was about 20 minutes later when the weight of the man’s arrogance struck me. I was stepping onto the bus for the airport when I got arrested for not paying my bill. The owner had summoned the police. Apparently the guy next door gave a full description of what I’d looked like. Then, as the police report indicates, he’d taken off abruptly for an important appointment.