Table 8 Vs. Table 19

The table numbers in the following story may have been changed to protect the innocent. Or they may not have. I don't have a good memory for random numbers.

It was an evening like any other. The party hall was dimly lit and full of well dressed guests. The smells of free food wafted throughout, a tempting yet allusive mistress. This was a wedding a reception. Jeremy and Nicole's to be exact. But I regress, lets get back to the food. The order in which the guest would eat was left to fate, a random lottery of table numbers to be drawn from the proverbial hat. I prayed that our table would be first. "Dear Lord please, I'm hungry" I pleaded. Table 8 however had another strategy, they rubbed their table number for good luck. We compared strategies and came to the conclusion that prayer trumped luck. Apparently knowing the bartender who is drawing the numbers trumps both prayer and luck.

"Guess what, they're calling number 8 next!" Melanie gloated. And it was as she had prophesied. In unison table 8 stood up, arms raised in victory. This wasn't right. They weren't Beyond Blessed, they were cheaters. In an act of revenge, Steve decided to steal Melanie's chair. Jon, her husband realized the theft and recovered the stolen property. Humph, as I walked to the bar to get a refill on the chips Jon called to me, offering what appeared to be a single carrot. I refused but on my way back to my table I gingerly picked a roll up from Melanie's plate, took a bite, and then returned it.

Fortunately for table 19 our number soon came up and we were off to collect our reward. As I returned to my table, plates in hand, table 8 called to me. "Hey Dan," Steve number two, said with the lips of a serpent. As I turned my head to acknowledge him, Melanie stole the roll right off of my plate, took a bite, and then kept it. I of course had to return to the line for a new roll. I will not be roll less.

"Excuse me, could you give me a roll?" I asked a fellow wedding attendee. He obliged but I was later told that he may have called me a derelict. I commend him for not going the easy rout of calling me a bum. (In an effort to show him that I do indeed have money I have hired a hitman to break his kneecaps). Steve's roll befell a similar fate. Chris, another member of our table had both of his plates stolen by Jon. In the end though, my stomach was full and that's what matters.