No kidding -

Counter Creatures. The words reverberated in my head like the background music in a Freddy Kruger movie. Lions and tigers and bears, oh my! I imagined legions of trolls and hags filing in the restaurant, planting themselves at the counter, and banging their silverware on the table like the orphans in "Oliver." I wasn't really that far off.

The first of them came in about an hour later. He was a harmless-looking little guy, with wild eyes and greasy, unkempt hair. He reminded me of that weird looking blue bird on the Muppet Show. Now I of course had been filled in on this guy a bit, because he was just too strange not to talk about. He had that mental disorder where you're afraid of germs, like Jack Nicholson in "As Good As It Gets." It was a great movie, but having met this guy, I found it hard to swallow that a person could just "get over it" and live happily ever after. Although I had been given some instructions on how to deal with him, I had to test it a little. I was, after all, nineteen. He ordered a bowl of soup and a glass of water, no ice. Ice is dirty. Judging by his hair, apparently soap was, too. The bowls were stacked next to the soup bin. I picked one up placing my finger on the lip.

"Excuse me, miss. Uhh, could you please use a different bowl?"

"Why?" I asked, batting my eyelashes a little. What a bitch!

"You touched the rim," he said. He looked very nervous. His eyes were in constant motion. Okay Sandy, show's over, time to lay off. It was too late. I had spooked him. I had to change bowls three times. He somehow managed to eat the soup without the spoon ever touching his lips. It was truly disgusting. I tried not to watch, but I was trapped behind the counter. He was watching me, assessing my every move trying to see if I was secretly sabotaging the food. I had to get out of there. I attempted an escape to the kitchen.

"Mamasita!"

Shit. No help there. I went back out to the counter. The man had finished lapping up his soup and wanted some chocolate cake. I had to cut the piece in front of him and carefully lift it onto the plate without again touching the rim or the cake. Having achieved this, I watched in horror while he washed his food raccoon style, swishing it around in his mouth with water before swallowing it. The human brain is an amazing organ. In the interest of personal safety it can manipulate itself into a thousand different neuroses including a never-ending list of phobias and multiple personalities. It has allowed rulers over the centuries to justify the slaughter of innocent people and scientists to develop things like the atomic bomb with a clear conscience. It makes mothers think their spit is a sanitary face cleanser for their children, and it allowed this guy to believe if he swished his food around in his mouth with water, it would be free of microbes. I wanted to ask him where he thought the germs were going but he was so jumpy I decided not. He might have a bottle of Lysol in his coat and an itchy trigger finger.

While Germ Man was at the counter, no one else arrived until he had almost finished. He must have planned it that way, watching through the plate glass window until the place cleared out. It was astounding to me that he left the house at all. Two lonely guys filed in and sat at the counter. The counter clientele mostly consisted of lonely guys. This is true of almost every counter I have ever worked. Are they pathetic? No. You are pathetic. You are working the counter, waiting on a bunch of lonely guys, watching them eat, cleaning up after them, for about a buck a head.

Another lone personage sat at the counter. She was dressed all in pink; from her gloved fingertips to her wide brimmed hat. I say "she" with some trepidation because she was not entirely female. At about one hundred and eighty pounds with skin like a mile of bad road under an inch of makeup, no one was fooled. She looked like Miss Piggy dressed up as Audrey Hepburn in "My Fair Lady." The Lonely Guys gave Miss Piggy a sideways glance. She batted her eyelashes at them coquettishly. They resumed eating at a furious pace. I will always regret not having engaged this Creature in conversation. I would have loved to chat with Miss Piggy to find out what made her tick. Did she really think no one could tell, or did she just not give a shit? I hope it was the latter. Miss Piggy daintily ate her club sandwich and left, remaining a mystery forever.

Right about then, the counter filled up and I was suddenly buzzing around my little workspace like an angry housefly. There are few things more disgusting than watching people eat. They slurp their soup. They dribble on themselves. They chew with their mouths open. One geriatric couple sat down together, dressed like cute little mobsters and screaming at each other. It was obviously their normal mode of communication. When their food had been served, they began asking for condiments and extra gravy. Their gaping maws were full of food that they sprayed like bullets as they spoke. The horror on my face was as plain as the gravy on their chins, but they didn't seem to notice. I looked wildly up and down the counter for an escape. There was none. The counter was full.

"Miss! Where is my cheeseburger?"

"More coffee, please."

"Hey - I'd like to order TODAY if you don't mind."

The military waitress police shuffled around the floor smiling at me like Vincent Price. I had entered the Twilight Zone. Rod Serling would step out from behind the shake machine at any moment.