Weather forecast

Sooner or later I’m going to have a problem, and I suspect some things are bound to break. To make sense of what I’m about to share, I need to give you some context, so I’ll take this chance to flesh out the restaurant anecdote I briefly mentioned in my last post.

A coworker insisted on taking me out to lunch, not taking no for an answer, and dragged me to this “amazing spot” he swore I had to experience. He showed up with a friend who, to put it bluntly, was dirty, smelled bad, and was already a bit drunk. That’s where I left off last time.

We got to the place, and it was packed. They told us to wait outside on the street. My two companions immediately lit up cigarettes right by the entrance, where some people were eating. I suggested we step away a bit to avoid bothering anyone, and they agreed.

From the outside, I could already tell the restaurant was a mess. The decor was tacky, the tables so cramped that people had to stand up to let others pass. You could hear the noise from the street, but at that point I had no idea just how chaotic it was inside.

After a few minutes, we heard a shout: “Hey, you three, table’s ready!” It was a waiter yelling and waving at us from the back of the restaurant. “Get in here!” So we did.

Inside, it was like a mix of a madhouse and a zoo. Everyone was shouting to be heard, especially the waiters, who didn’t bother taking orders to the kitchen. They just yelled them from the tables, and someone in the kitchen would holler back to confirm.

If I thought I’d seen it all, what happened next floored me. We reached our table—after making several diners interrupt their meals to let us through—and the previous customer was still sitting there, finishing a coffee. The waiter told us, “Hang on, this one’s leaving soon,” and left us standing right in front of the table while the poor man, now on his feet, rushed to gulp down his coffee and leave. If that happened to me in a restaurant, I’d never come back and might even take it up with the place. But this guy acted like it was normal, said his goodbyes, and left—probably to return next time.

There’s more to this experience, but to keep it short, I’ll just say the menu was a greasy, photocopied sheet with nine dishes: three starters, three meat options, three fish. Same menu every day, no exceptions.

We each ordered something. What stood out was that no matter what you got, the only side dish was a handful of fries. The food itself was average—nothing great, nothing terrible. I guess if you’re used to eating at a certain level, this place might seem like the height of excellence. That’s the only way I can explain why it’s so popular. The bill matched the experience: low price but not cheap, if you know what I mean.

We left, and my companions started smoking again right by the entrance, where a waitress was also lighting up. I subtly nudged them a few steps away, and we stood there chatting about when we’d hang out again (never, thanks), how they could show me other great spots (no, thanks), and how I could come back to this “amazing” restaurant whenever I wanted a good meal (I’d rather starve to death, thanks). They offered to drive me home, but I said I’d rather walk after such a heavy lunch, and we parted ways.

All this isn’t what this post is about. It’s just to give you a sense of the social environment I’m navigating in this temporary city, until I finish this phase and move on with my plan to become a ghost. It also sets up what I really want to talk about.

I don’t know when it’ll happen, but trouble’s coming. I’m trying my hardest to blend in here, to not be “that guy.” But I can feel a moment approaching where I’ll have no choice but to disrupt this cozy vibe and push back—hard—if my boundaries are crossed. My coworkers are genuinely kind and generous, and I want to keep things as they are, even giving in when its necessary. But there are things I simply won’t do, consequences be damned.

Twice now, I’ve been in conversations where someone casually dropped the word “hookers.” A storm’s brewing.