Eggs Over Easy at the Existential Diner
Liam peered over his half glasses at the menu, squinting as he struggled to read the special of the day. “I’m surprised this menu is so long”, I mused. “Restaurants are all shortening their menus in response to studies that customers are more satisfied when presented by fewer choices. People get overwhelmed with too many choices. Liam looked puzzled. “Don’t people want more choices?” “Yes, they say they do”, I agreed. “But when you ask how satisfied they are, they are happier with fewer choices. People are not good judges of what will make them happy. The older I get, the more I realize how right Sartre was when he said ‘Man is condemned to be free’. Maybe I can save you some time by recommending the pancakes, eggs, and sausages.” Liam furrowed his eyebrows and looked deep in thought. “What about scientists who say that everything is determined. Maybe we aren’t as free as we think?” “The scientists are correct about inanimate objects. You can predict the location of a planet orbiting a star tomorrow, or next year, or a hundred years from now, but you can’t predict what sentient beings like us are going to do in the next moment.”
The waitress with her hair in a bob and the demeanor of someone born with a spatula attached to her right arm approached us, her pencil poised to write on her tiny rectangular pad. “What will you gentleman have,” she asked. Liam pointed to the special written on the index card attached to the menu.
I’ll have the pancakes, eggs, and sausages combination
How do you want your eggs?
Over easy, please
What kind of syrup?
Ugh, what kind do you have?
Maple, blueberry, strawberry, raspberry, and boysenberry.
That’s tough. I like them all. How about strawberry? No, make it boysenberry. Wait, no, maple.
It comes with a drink. Coffee, tea, apple juice, cranberry juice, or tomato juice?
What kind of tea do you have?
Black, green, matcha, white, mint, spearmint, or raspberry?
You know what, just give me water.
Plain water, lemon flavored, or carbonated?
Just regular.
The waitress turned to me.
Just coffee for me.
It has been two weeks since I met Liam at that bus stop in Bay Terrace. He was carrying a book that I had published 20 years ago that virtually no one read outside of academia. I had to comment on his good taste and introduce myself as the author. No one reads books on philosophy unless your professor assigns it, yet Liam claimed he bought it on a whim while browsing in Amazon. That was so odd, I wondered if he somehow set me up for this meeting. That’s what led me here. An opportunity to meet his protégé, Gordo, who he assured me would be very interested in my work and may be some kind of patron. Except Gordo didn’t show up for the first two proposed meetings. Why should this time be any different?
Shouldn’t you text Gordo? He was supposed to be here 20 minutes ago.
Gordo doesn’t answer texts. This time he will come. He promised me this time and he doesn’t break promises. Unless he has a good reason, that is.
Of course. Aren’t we all that way? There is always a reason if you want one.
I suppose so.
I’m beginning to wonder if Gordo really exists or is a figment of your imagination. Is he some kind of patron of the arts? Even if he is, why would he help me? I’m no artist, just a struggling adjunct professor who published one book that no one read, except for you apparently.
Liam started picking at his eggs that just after the waitress laid it down.
Ah, I should have ordered them scrambled! These are too runny.
You can give it back and get them scrambled.
Nah, I already made my choice. If it is a bad one, I’ll just have to live with it. And why did I get plain water? I think I was so frustrated by so many choices, that I chose not to choose. Water is always the default when you don’t know what to choose. You can’t not like it, because there is nothing to like or dislike.
That’s my point. You must choose. Even not making a choice is to choose. You end up with a default like water. There is no way to escape from the freedom to choose. Better that you make the decision than let fate decide for you.
Gordo would have known what to choose. That’s why I would have asked him if he was here. But the problem is he never shows up when I need him.
Did you really learn anything from my book? It was about how to live an authentic life. If you understood it, you would know never to wait for a magic man to make your decision. Your life seems to be all about bad faith.
What do you mean by bad faith?
It’s a lie that you tell that even you start to believe. I think Gordo is your alter ego, your real self, but you tell yourself it’s not you, it’s this mythical character.
Oh, no. Gordo is real alright. I’ve seen him do amazing things. He is a patron of the arts, mentor to potential geniuses that I’ve seen become giants in their fields. I liked your book because it spoke to me about the human condition. But you need to reach a wider audience.
I looked up at the clock. We’ll it’s almost 12 o’clock and I’ve got things to do. I’m going to get the check and get out of here.
Wait. Let me at least treat you to dessert. I tell you Gordo will be here before you can finish it.
I picked up the check, stood up, and was about to walk to the cashier, when I felt the wind as the door was opened by a tall, wiry man in a trench coat. It had been a completely calm day up until that point. It felt almost as if the wind had carried him in. Could this be what we were waiting for? I tapped Liam on the shoulder and pointed to the door.
Is that him?
I don’t know. I have never met him.
What? You said you have seen him do amazing things.
Yes, but I have never seen his face
Just then the mysterious man walked over to us. “Professor Bloom, I assume”, he said as he extended his hand. “Yes, that’s me. How did you know my name?” I extended my hand only to see the ghostly figure disappear. When I turned around Liam was gone too. That was two weeks and since then sales of my book that were flat for the last year were up 25%. Was Liam really Gordo? Or was Gordo really Liam? Or maybe they both never existed. I’m left to ponder the very meaning of existence after my second cup of coffee at the corner diner.
The waitress with her hair in a bob and the demeanor of someone born with a spatula attached to her right arm approached us, her pencil poised to write on her tiny rectangular pad. “What will you gentleman have,” she asked. Liam pointed to the special written on the index card attached to the menu.
I’ll have the pancakes, eggs, and sausages combination
How do you want your eggs?
Over easy, please
What kind of syrup?
Ugh, what kind do you have?
Maple, blueberry, strawberry, raspberry, and boysenberry.
That’s tough. I like them all. How about strawberry? No, make it boysenberry. Wait, no, maple.
It comes with a drink. Coffee, tea, apple juice, cranberry juice, or tomato juice?
What kind of tea do you have?
Black, green, matcha, white, mint, spearmint, or raspberry?
You know what, just give me water.
Plain water, lemon flavored, or carbonated?
Just regular.
The waitress turned to me.
Just coffee for me.
It has been two weeks since I met Liam at that bus stop in Bay Terrace. He was carrying a book that I had published 20 years ago that virtually no one read outside of academia. I had to comment on his good taste and introduce myself as the author. No one reads books on philosophy unless your professor assigns it, yet Liam claimed he bought it on a whim while browsing in Amazon. That was so odd, I wondered if he somehow set me up for this meeting. That’s what led me here. An opportunity to meet his protégé, Gordo, who he assured me would be very interested in my work and may be some kind of patron. Except Gordo didn’t show up for the first two proposed meetings. Why should this time be any different?
Shouldn’t you text Gordo? He was supposed to be here 20 minutes ago.
Gordo doesn’t answer texts. This time he will come. He promised me this time and he doesn’t break promises. Unless he has a good reason, that is.
Of course. Aren’t we all that way? There is always a reason if you want one.
I suppose so.
I’m beginning to wonder if Gordo really exists or is a figment of your imagination. Is he some kind of patron of the arts? Even if he is, why would he help me? I’m no artist, just a struggling adjunct professor who published one book that no one read, except for you apparently.
Liam started picking at his eggs that just after the waitress laid it down.
Ah, I should have ordered them scrambled! These are too runny.
You can give it back and get them scrambled.
Nah, I already made my choice. If it is a bad one, I’ll just have to live with it. And why did I get plain water? I think I was so frustrated by so many choices, that I chose not to choose. Water is always the default when you don’t know what to choose. You can’t not like it, because there is nothing to like or dislike.
That’s my point. You must choose. Even not making a choice is to choose. You end up with a default like water. There is no way to escape from the freedom to choose. Better that you make the decision than let fate decide for you.
Gordo would have known what to choose. That’s why I would have asked him if he was here. But the problem is he never shows up when I need him.
Did you really learn anything from my book? It was about how to live an authentic life. If you understood it, you would know never to wait for a magic man to make your decision. Your life seems to be all about bad faith.
What do you mean by bad faith?
It’s a lie that you tell that even you start to believe. I think Gordo is your alter ego, your real self, but you tell yourself it’s not you, it’s this mythical character.
Oh, no. Gordo is real alright. I’ve seen him do amazing things. He is a patron of the arts, mentor to potential geniuses that I’ve seen become giants in their fields. I liked your book because it spoke to me about the human condition. But you need to reach a wider audience.
I looked up at the clock. We’ll it’s almost 12 o’clock and I’ve got things to do. I’m going to get the check and get out of here.
Wait. Let me at least treat you to dessert. I tell you Gordo will be here before you can finish it.
I picked up the check, stood up, and was about to walk to the cashier, when I felt the wind as the door was opened by a tall, wiry man in a trench coat. It had been a completely calm day up until that point. It felt almost as if the wind had carried him in. Could this be what we were waiting for? I tapped Liam on the shoulder and pointed to the door.
Is that him?
I don’t know. I have never met him.
What? You said you have seen him do amazing things.
Yes, but I have never seen his face
Just then the mysterious man walked over to us. “Professor Bloom, I assume”, he said as he extended his hand. “Yes, that’s me. How did you know my name?” I extended my hand only to see the ghostly figure disappear. When I turned around Liam was gone too. That was two weeks and since then sales of my book that were flat for the last year were up 25%. Was Liam really Gordo? Or was Gordo really Liam? Or maybe they both never existed. I’m left to ponder the very meaning of existence after my second cup of coffee at the corner diner.
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