Ezra's Cafe

An old man runs the worst cafe in town. He hates the customer(s), they hate him. No-one's ever been happier.

Ezra’s Questionable Cafe

 

Every morning Ezra would spend 15 minutes trying to put the key in his trailer cafe, every morning the same people, also opening their cafe’s along the waterfront would offer help, and every morning Ezra would throw his cat at them. The cat would then disappear, only to return at 7pm for the same ritualistic hurling to commence. Secretly, the others thought Ezra trained the cat. In truth, Ezra had stolen the cat from an old woman who threw it at him when he was a child.

 

Now, an 87 year old walking vibrator, Ezra spent his days trying to avoid everyone, including customers, or ‘pests’ as he called them, by scowling, mumbling incomprehensible but clearly offensive Yiddish and spitting chunks of stale bread at them. His cafe, Ezra’s Food, sold only bagels - all of which were sold stale due to his belief that soft food had caused his gums to loosen and led to his near toothlessness now. The 5 remaining teeth were weird, crooked things, they looked more like shrapnel that had been blasted into his face than actual teeth. He was dedicated to their preservation though, insisting that crunchy food would repair the damage done by his mothers goulash obsession which had marred his childhood.

 

The only salvation he had found during his mollycoddled upbringing had been to discover that his uncle had a cafe in Manhattan, where he now lived. A cafe that Ezra had acquired after a lengthy legal battle which was pointless as it ended with a bribe anyway but still felt exhausting enough to sustain his hatred of his family to this day.

 

His business had been struggling since he got Parkinsons, this was because he refused to hire anyone to wait the tables and therefore none of his food and not much of the coffee actually made to the tables without first visiting the sand-peppered floor.  The reason some of the coffee made it was that he had always put the pot on last thing before closing, meaning when he opened it had stewed for about 16 hours and was simply too thick to climb the walls of the mug.

 

Consequently, Ezra had only two customer’s, both of which he hated, and both of which hated him. They too were old, decrepit and wizened and also hated everyone else. They all spent their time telling each other how much they hated one another in order to cheer themselves up. It was an anti-support group for bitter old men.

 

“Hey, fatso, why do you come here? You know I hate you. You’ll break the stools.” " Ezra’s traditional morning greeting to Tzvi, a beast of a man who refused to eat anywhere else because the people were nice and the food was delicious, was always the same.

 

“Shut your kaboosh gummy. Bring me a bagel and some of that s**t you call coffee.” Tzvi had a theory about life that he had formulated in his old age: Basically, as time dragged when he was stressed, miserable and waiting, and as he was now an 82 year old testament to human durability, encasing as he did, every variety of malignant defect possible to house in just one body, he vowed to live miserably, angrily and waiting for something to happen. For these reasons, Ezra was vital to his survival: An infinite well of nagging disappointment, heartfelt abuse and deliberate incompetence.

 

The vibrating proprietor shuffled over and the sound of tinnitus inducing crockery wobble rang across the sea. Three fish floated to the top as was customary when Ezra moved.

 

“Where’s Caleb? That scrawny little prick owes me $10.” Again, this was a daily discussion.

“He paid you back in 1987 Ezra, jeeeez!”

“He didn’t. He’s after my money. I know it.”

“You don’t have any money Ezra. He was after your wife, but then Frank got her.” Frank was a charmer, who unbeknownst to everyone that knew him, actually had a lucrative 40+ porn company, which Ezra’s wife had found a level of stardom with under a pseudonym.

“F**k you Tzvi!” Ezra spat the bread he had stored in his baggy cheeks at Tzvi to emphasise his rage. Then replaced the bread, ready for the next time he’d feel like doing it.

 

It was then when a new customer approached. A young man, who claimed to know the owner, or rather his mother did. Ezra was deeply suspicious, by nature. The young man showed him ID which verified his claim and then began discussing the value of the cafe. Ezra was now boiling over with rage, he would have been shaking with rage but he was already shaking so it was hard to tell how angry he was. The first hint young Simon got was when he saw him reach for the cat, which had inexplicably returned early, sensing danger.

 

The cat flew directly into his face and then dropped onto his lap were it stayed, hissing at Ezra. Tzvi laughed - he knew what was coming.

 

“So, uncle Ezra, you know how you got this cafe from your uncle, and how you got this cat from the person that threw it at you....” he paused, Ezra’s bottom eyelids were trembling, and began to drip crystal tears from the reddened corners.

 

Tzvi was now struggling to breathe, at a 45 degree angle, saved only by the arm rest from falling onto the concrete, and breathlessly wheezing what had been bellows of laughter just seconds ago.

 

“I know.” Said Ezra, and quietly shuffled off down the pier. Simon watched. At the end of the pier, Ezra didn’t stop. He didn’t jump or lean, he just shuffled off, into the sea which was crawling its way up the rocky sides - old bones would have broken instantly in such rough waters.

 

Simon turned to Tzvi, the only other witness to this and raised his eyebrows. Tzvi who had been relying on Ezra to keep him miserable and lengthen his life gasped and clutched his chest. He had abruptly stopped laughing and was now loudly sobbing “You b*****d! You selfish old f**k!!” Tzvi shouted, seemingly at the sea.

 

Without anymore hesitation, he flipped the table and ran towards the flame shaped waves. Unfortunately, he slipped and popped his head like a watermelon on a giant plastic ice cream. Either way -he was dead immediately.

 

Simon, having silently watched such carnage break out from what seemed so little went over to the body, after a quick scan which revealed he was alone, he hauled the body off the pier into the abyss and sat back down with his new cat.

 

He called the signage company and wondered if Ezra had really had a lengthy court battle after all, or if maybe he should petition for higher railings and better elderly care.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Author's Note

Based on specifications from a friend. The specification was to have the lead character as an elderly, curmudgeonly waiter.

Reviews

[Ramiza]

I really enjoyed reading it :) It was short, and entertaining

[Pete]

Thanks Ramiza!