NervousMan stared at the mean waiter's shoes as he walked evenly across across the floor toward him. The waiter seemed to be glowering at him as he stopped a few feet away.
NervousMan gulped.
"Do they think my card is stolen? Maybe I'm the victim of identity theft," he thought.
The thought of NervousMan being someone's victim made NervousMan nervous.
NervousMan knew he should have paid cash. Now, probably he was going to jail. What would happen to him in jail?
NervousMan felt nervous.
The waiter motioned for NervousMan to follow him.
"I thought he wanted me to wait in my seat!" thought NervousMan. NervousMan felt fear in his stomach. Maybe the mean waiter was going to beat NervousMan up because he thought his card was stolen!
As they walked, the mean waiter, turned back toward NervousMan and said the word "Congratulations" tightly under his breath. Was the waiter being sarcastic?
NervousMan was nervous.
NervousMan followed the waiter up to the cash register where the well-dressed man in the pinstripe suit was standing. NervousMan felt like everyone was watching him. From off in the corner came a burst of laughter.
NervousMan didn't want to be here, he felt hot and nervous. What was going on?
NervousMan swallowed.
"Hello sir, how are you doing today?" the pinstriped man said with a steady smile.
"I'm fine," said NervousMan, his eyes darting back and forth between his surroundings and the man's eyes. They seemed like friendly eyes, thought NervousMan.
Professional eyes.
"I'm Derek Little," said the man. "I am a public relations representative for the 59 Club chain of restaurants".
"Puh--Public Relations?" asked NervousMan. What was this about?
"Yes sir. We are doing a promotion of our restaurant, and it is my duty to happily inform you that you are our one million and 59th customer!"
Mr. Little shook NervousMan's hand.
"I am?" said NervousMan, eyes widening.
From somewhere off to NervousMan's left, a flash bulb went off and people started to applauded wildly....
NervousMan felt nervous.
Later, NervousMan walked down city streets back to his apartment wearing his new 59 Club t-shirt and thumbing the folded up check in its breast pocket. The pocket had a little highway 59 logo on it, and then a big sign like it on the back of the tshirt.
Derek Little seemed like an okay person, thought NervousMan. But he sure made NervousMan nervous. Especially having the picture of him put up amongst all the other winners up on the wall.
NervousMan looked down at his copy of that picture which they had given him.
NervousMan thought Mr. Little looked a bit creepy. "Long in the tooth" NervousMan thought the phrase was. The man's gray and white combover was reminiscent of some kind of hairstyle... maybe it was Paul Newman's. Did Paul Newman have a combover? NervousMan couldn't remember.
NervousMan could see why they paid Mr. Little to do 'public relations' he had a great big smile. NervousMan thought maybe he had seen him in some commercial once. NervousMan remembered that Mr. Little's breath smelled like onions. But that was okay. Such a thing wouldn't show up on the picture, NervousMan thought.
In the picture Mr. Little was shaking NervousMan's hand. NervousMan looked at the picture while he walked along. He looked at himself, wide-eyed, and trying desperately to smile. However the gravity of his own distress pulled most of his features downward. He looked as though he was going to cry. Now this moment would be on the wall for everyone to look at, and laugh at. Forever.
"But I won", thought NervousMan.
NervousMan looked at the tiny representation of his own face in the instamatic photograph as he walked along.
"Somewhere under there, there is ... I think... maybe a smile" said NervousMan under his breath to no one in particular. "Hmmm."
A car honked sharply and NervousMan jumped.
He had almost walked out in the middle of the street! NervousMan thought about many things but this time he had been very lost in his thoughts!
The thought of being hit by a car made NervousMan very nervous.
NervousMan stepped 2 big steps back onto the curb. Other people nearby looked at NervousMan and scowled.
NervousMan saw a coin-operated newspaper machine. On the front of the paper were stories and pictures of a bridge that had fallen down the day before.
NervousMan wondered how such a thing could happen. Weren't there people out there who were taking care of the bridge? Wasn't that their job to do that? Perhaps, thought NervousMan, those people were nervous too and didn't do a very good job and then the bridge fell down. NervousMan looked at the pictures of cars strewn about in the water like so many kids' toys in a mud puddle.
The pictures made NervousMan nervous.
It was getting late. Almost time for dinner. NervousMan frowned and decided not to cross the street, but rather to go to the store.
"But first", thought NervousMan I will buy a sandwich so I would not 'shop hungry'. Of NervousMan's habits, this was one of the very few.
The lady at the cash register rang up NervousMan's sandwich and NervousMan ate it by the window of the restaurant, off in the corner.
"No one can see me sitting alone back here," thought NervousMan.
NervousMan thought about how the lady at the cash register just now didn't really look at or talk to him when he paid his money to her. Everything and everyone seemed so mechanical thought NervousMan. She even said 'Thank You' to him like a robot, not even bothering to look or smile at NervousMan.
"Maybe she was nervous doing her job too", NervousMan thought. Or maybe she was tired out from being nervous.
NervousMan was nervous too.
Sitting at the window, NervousMan watched the people pass back and forth outside the place. Back and forth, back and forth.
Some of the people looked mean. Others looked tired. Some looked nervous. But none were as nervous as NervousMan.
NervousMan could still taste the mustard of his sandwich as he pushed the contents of his tray through the THANK YOU door and left the sandwich shop, walking out into the dying rays of the sun.
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