I returned to the local diner. I needed to get more work done on a paper for one of my… I returned to the local diner. I needed to get more work done on a paper for one of my classes. I just got off work at midnight, and I knew returning home would result in a TV coma. I was trying to create a framework to analyze something or other, and I figured soda and chicken fingers would help me remember. I needed to remember because it’s essential to know which class a paper’s for when writing the intro and conclusion, and I only had a little left to complete on the body of my masterpiece.

I asked for non-smoking. I was shown to a booth. The waitress gave me a horrible look. She walked away. I shrugged it off and opened my laptop. A different waitress took my drink order. After waitress number two scurried off to fetch my liquid refreshment, I looked around for the other waitress. I wanted to know exactly what the look and the switch was all about, but her back was to me. She was smoking and talking to a cook or some other diner employee. After a moment, I shrugged this off as well. The soda had been ordered. The chicken fingers soon would be. I was focused. I was ready. I had even remembered which class this was supposed to be for. It was time to write.

I opened the file. As I was re-reading my handiwork and deciding the body needed quite a lot more work, waitress number two returned. She gave me my soda. I gave her my order. I turned back to my work. It was now approximately 1 a.m. I typed until approximately 1:15 a.m. when my food arrived. I ate one chicken finger every 12 minutes. I typed in between. I wrote quite a lot; none of it actually ended up in the paper, but that’s just how it goes sometimes. By the time I’d exhausted my supply of fried fowl, I was low on battery power.

I began looking around for an outlet. Then, I heard a noise. I knew what was about to enter the diner – children. Horrible beastly things these would be. I didn’t even need to see them to know. Only anti-social, unwashed, brats hang out in diners at 2 a.m. My friends and I had observed this phenomenon throughout high school without noting one exception, and under other circumstances, I’d have been delighted to watch them breathe life into the place, but I had to write.

And, write I did. I ignored it when they were brought to a booth one away from mine (brought by waitress number one, I might add). I ignored them when they began smoking in what I’d been led to believe had been a smoke-free zone. I ignored them as more of their friends came in.

Then, this kid entered. Previously, I’d been referring to this gathering of homo sapiens as children only to distance myself from the group-diner experience, which I find delightful and could not, because of my need to write, indulge in on this particular night, but the group’s newest member looked about 12. He came in, leaned against the table and began swearing.

It was a fantastic string of expletives which he tied into a pretty solid argument for being allowed to remain at the diner after 2 a.m. on a school night. I laughed. I shook my head. I laughed again, and got caught.

One of the girls in the group saw me laughing. She said something pleasant and vaguely apologetic, I countered with a combination of mature-tolerance and a slight edge of urgent working being done here. Another girl made a joke. The guys and I nodded. I returned to typing. I finished typing. I paid. I nearly left.

In my head, I played back the pieces of their conversation I’d overheard. I’d heard nothing of substance. Not one thing had been said since they walked in that was interesting, abstract, thoughtful or subversive. I was saddened. This was not how a group-diner experience was to proceed. I decided to help out a little. I introduced myself, and I started asking them questions.

Controversy was my goal, so I started with gay rights fully expecting a “don’t let them people marry” response because of the quality of their previous conversations. The girl who had initially caught me laughing started first. “The whole gay marriage thing is bullshit!” She was gay. The other girl was bisexual. The two girls had interesting things to say. The guys were quiet about it. The 12-year-old poured sugar into his water.

I switched to Iraq. Here, more of the guys got involved. They did not all agree with each other. Most of them repeated lines from one part or another, but not only did they argue with each other they were polite about it. I told one of the girls to read Mill. The kid poured ketchup in his water.

Then, I brought up drugs. Before anyone else could say anything, the kid looked up and said “Legalize it.” Then, he dropped his spoon into his glass and stirred the whole mess up.

E-mail Zak Sharif at [email protected] after you’ve stirred up a little conversation.