Must... Resist...

Mazatlan is on to me in the caf.

At 5 minutes until the close of breakfast service, I waltz in and make a beeline for the bagels. The last 12 grain is still sitting where I put it yesterday at the back of the bottom left cubby hole. I grab it and start toasting. Thats when I have to stand there and rock back and forth on my heels for 240 seconds.

I do that, while listening to the cashier discuss his sour stomach with some creepy lady from accounting who always manages to look homeless. She wears these big flanel coats that look like blankets. I know she has a red one and a green one. Why would anyone buy an item like that in more than one color? Why would anyone buy an item like that at all???

My bagel pops up and interrupts my inner monologue.

As I drop it quickly into a little paper basket like a Hot Potato, I look up and see Mazatlan coming through the center of the caf and staring right at me. He's grinning a little bit and he knows exactly what he's doing. He knows I've been looking at him and now he's gonna look at me, too. This is the kind of stare that says "What are you gonna do about it?"

"Nothing," comes my inaudible answer, as I smile back warmly, but politely, and shuffle over to the cashier. I have this warm tingly feeling like I've either just escaped something or started something else. He is laughing with the head cook when I turn around to grab a napkin. He glances at me. Everything about him seems warm.

I start walking faster toward the exit, through the dining area, so the kitchen can't see me.
I don't need to say anything to him. I know all about him before he even opens his mouth. The "romantic high point" of working in a place like this is so you can meet eligible bachelors who have cars and money, not cafeteria workers. Thats the last thing I need.

Still, though. Must... resist... asking... for real name...