Salad

Dan's POV:

I glance back down at the salad that I am currently carrying to a table across the room. Confusion engulfs my face as I once again question why anyone would order this. Our menu has such a variety of food, even salads, that we never have anyone ordering this monstrosity willingly. Usually if someone ordered this specific plate of food, they had a reason.

This guy, he had no known reason. No one was there daring him to do it. He had no one with him at all. He was alone.

As I approach the table I notice his tall figure hunched over the edge. His black hair falling over his eyes and his hand reaching down. My eyes follow his hand down to see his phone on the floor. Once his hand has settled around it, his frame shifts as he starts to sit back up. His fringe settles back in place as our eyes lock for a moment before mine dart away.

"You ordered the specialty salad, right?" I only ask this because the confused features have presumably settled back on my face as I glance down at the food. It's not that the salad itself is awful, it's what is currently on it.

Lettuce is settled at the bottom of the bowl, above that is bananas and strawberries, then some olives are mixed into that combination. To top it all off, there is a layer of fried onions and cucumbers with a coating of French dressing.

I don't know what the owner of this place was thinking when he put this on the menu. People have told him before that it is the most disgusting thing we serve, but he won't listen. He claims for it to be amazing, nothing short of perfect. This is only because he likes it. If it wasn't something he grew up eating, as he has explained to his employees many times, he would agree with us full heartedly.

We spent months trying to get this thing removed from the menu, but he just won't listen. It has gotten to the point that even the customers have grown used to his arguments. They only complained to begin with because of the dumbass kids who always use the salad as a dare for another kid.

"Yep!" I look back up from the bowl of food our owner calls a masterpiece to see the bright smile sitting across from me. He looks so full of joy and for a second that idea falters upon seeing my face. Of course, I am still confused as ever and showing it to the world. "I just moved here and I was curious to see what all the talk was about this thing. Everyone says it's horrible so I decided I would see for myself."

"It's your funeral." That's true. If this thing kills him then it's his problem, not mine.

I set down the bowl and turn to walk away before I am stopped in my tracks. I turn back around to see the familiar grin as he says thank you. That's when it hit me that this guy isn't like everyone else. He has a certain brightness about him that you can spot upon first laying your eyes on him.

--

"How was the salad, I see you didn't finish it?" My left eye brow raises when the question is asked. I don't know if it was more of an 'I told you so' gesture or worry that he could be dying from his one bite.

"Yeah, you were right. It is my funeral. This thing is horrible." He giggles while saying this, his tongue pokes out through the space in-between his lips as he does so.

"As long as you don't sue, we're good."

"I think I am alive enough to acknowledge that I was the one who wanted to try this and you warned me not to," He takes a brief pause and tilts his head a little. He is looking at me and I can feel my face heating up under the attention. I am not one to like being in the spotlight. I start to calm down when I realize he was only trying to read my name tag, "Daniel."

"I actually just go by Dan." It's not that I hate my name, I just prefer Dan. Everyone in grade school and up, besides my family, decided to always call me Dan. It was the convenience of the short name more than anything, but it stuck with me.

He smiles more when I say this which I find kind of strange. "I go by Phil, but my name is Philip." So that's why he is smiling, because we both shortened our names. Wow, he is definitely something else. "It's like we were meant to be. This could be some cheesy movie about two guys becoming the best of friends because they both shortened their names."

"Except it's not and I am just a waiter serving a customer food and warning him that it will kill him if he eats all of it."

"Wow way to ruin the mood." His smile vanished to almost nothing at that.

I don't have anything against this guy, but I'm not the type of person to go running around making friends left and right. I am the guy that lives alone because people scare him. I have always had social anxiety but as I grew up it became worse. It just kept getting worse.

I ended up pushing people away. I pushed them so far towards the edge that they fell. I was left alone on the roof of my life as my friends, one by one, fell over the side. It's not all that bad. I have a job, a home, and a sense of priority.

"My bad," a laugh left my mouth in attempts to brighten the atmosphere a little. "would you like the bill?"

"Actually!" the people occupying the other booths have turned their heads to watch this disastrous scene unfold. "can I see the desert menu? Sweets sound amazing after having tried this."

"Sure."

--

"Do you want to join me?"

"I don't think I c-"

"Oh come on! A little break won't hurt anyone," he said this while motioning me to the seat across from him.

And that is how I ended up sitting across from Phil Lester, eating chocolate cake and talking about movies we like. We sat like that for a while until I had to get back to work. He left and promised to come back again, hopefully.