Cast: Applicant A, Ellmyruh B, Sean C

(Note: Being the slighly weird person that I am, I must point out that my last name starts with a B and Sean's last name starts with a C. Yes, I was extremely pleased with myself for being able to work this small detail into the story.)

Sean and I work a few miles from one another, so we sometimes meet for lunch. One day not too long ago, we decided to go to Carl's Jr., which is about a mile from where I work. Sean and I met outside and then went in the building, where we proceeded to order our meals. This Carl's Jr. restaurant is one of the better that I have seen. I've been there a few times, and it is generally fairly clean, which is a surprise for lunch time. The dining room is fairly large, so there isn't a problem finding a table.

Sean and I selected a table next to a window, and sat down. There were other people in the restaurant, but there were plenty of open tables all around us. The food arrived and we began to eat our lunch.

And then I noticed that the bench I was sitting on was shaking slightly. Before I go further, let me explain that I have a few pet peeves. I nearly go insane when someone rhythmically shakes a piece of furniture I am sitting on. A lot of people tend to shake their legs while sitting, and it doesn't bother me unless I can feel it. If I can feel it, woe to the person who is shaking! Sean is one of those people, although he does try to stop if I say something. I do my best to ignore it, but that doesn't always work so well.

I looked at Sean, but realized that he couldn't be the cause of my shaking bench. Our seats were not even touching one another. And then Sean whispered, "Don't turn around."

I don't know about you, but when someone tells me not to do something, I suddenly and desperately want to do that thing. It took all of my willpower to not turn around.

"My seat is shaking, and it's driving me nuts!" I whispered back.

"Okay, take a quick look," Sean replied.

I moved my neck as if to stretch, thus giving myself an excuse to turn my head and stretch a bit more. (I can be sly when the occasion arises.) I was a bit surprised by what I saw. A man was sitting in the seat behind me, rocking back and forth. He didn't rock so far forward as to hit his head on the table, but he came close. If I had leaned back in my chair, he might have hit his head on mine. He was putting his whole body into it, and he wasn't rocking slowly, either. If he kept that up for long, he would probably burn quite a few calories.

I was rather surprised by what I saw, but it also entertained me. I only wished that Sean and I could switch places so that I could watch the man without turning my head. I managed to sneak a couple more glances at him and gathered that he had light skin, blonde/brown hair that needed washing, decent clothes, and that he was probably no older than 30.

"He's filling out an application," Sean whispered.

I stifled a laugh, while wondering what his finished application would look like. Perhaps rocking stimulated his brain? I really wasn't sure. Then the rocking stopped. And the talking began.

"...Let's see how many black people are in here," said Applicant A.

Uh oh. This was not good. It is never a good idea for someone to vocally count members of a different race.

"There's one," he said. "And there's another. There are at least two of them in here...It's okay...they will be saved."

This was not good, either. Fortunately, the talking stopped. Sean whispered that Applicant A was filling out the application. I got up to go refill my Dr Pepper, even though it really didn't need to be refilled. On my way back, I was able to get another look at him. This time, he was turned around, facing the table where Sean and I were sitting. I sat down, and Applicant A turned his attention back to his application.

I later found out that, as soon as I went to refill my soda, the man had turned around and stared at Sean. He looked at my partially eaten food, then went back to staring at Sean. He didn't stop until I came back.

A few minutes later, Applicant A went to the front counter and bought a small drink. He then went and sat down at a table across from another lady. Unfortunately, the end of my story is near. I needed to get back to work, and Applicant A was too far away for me to hear him. In order to see him, I still had to turn around. However, I did notice that his hooded flannel swirtshirt was still on the seat behind me, and his application was still on the table. I desperately wanted to know he had written on the application, but I refrained from stopping to look. I leave it to the reader to imagine what was on that application.