Ah it is that speccy guy with the jeans and the headphones, here at the office buffet for lunch. Let me serve him. Yeah. Let me get busy with my appointed daily task of feeding these people.
I shall begin by heaping some matooke on his … wait. What is he doing? He is shaking his head, curving his mouth downwards and moving the plate away. It is almost as if he does not want matooke?
But that is absurd. Not want matooke? That is not sense being made, those words, in that order. That is not concievable. Let me push the ladle with its burden of tooke closer to his plate and then move on to the next customer.
Wait. He still refuses to take the matooke. He is pointing his plate at the posho instead. What is malfunctioning in this man’s medulla? What is awry in his circuits? Why is he acting as if he does not want to be served matooke and yet nothing about that is even remotely logical? A person not wanting matooke? That is unthinkable. Literally. I cannot think it. I cannot think that this person does not want matooke. No matter what gestures he makes I still try to put this tooke on his plate.
Is this fool going to make me chase him?
Ah he speaks. He says what? I think he said he just wants posho. What the fuck. He just wants posho after his matooke?
He speaks again. He has actually said it. He says he does not — gasp!– want matooke. Well. Spank the lower quadrant of my rear with a spatula and call me Angela Merkel, I never!
The nerve of this man.
How dare he?
I am quite offended. You just walk up to my buffet and not eat matooke? Like some sort of robot or space alien or Kenyan?
In all my years I have never known anything so absurd.
I may be being too hasty. I have to ask him again. You say you don’t want matooke?
He actually agreed! He said he didn’t want matooke!
I have no choice. I am going to have to not serve him matooke. But I hope he can read from the look on my face, that I do not approve of this at all. I am dead set in opposition and hope he chokes on his posho and learns his lesson.