Bartender: What’ll ya have, boys?
Bartender: Don’t even know why I ask anymore…
Eddie: So Tip, whatever happened with Jessica?
Tip: Oh, I dunno. Things just kinda fizzled out and faded away. I guess she didn’t want to hear what I had to say.
Eddie: …and what did you have to say?
Tip: That I thought she was a pretty awesome girl, and that I’d like to get to know her better.
Tip: And that I found her attractive.
Eddie: There’s your problem, Tip. You probably ruined a good thing by crossing that line.
Tip: I know, I know…I just couldn’t take it anymore, really. I had to let her know. Not only was it driving me nuts, but I felt like I was lying to a girl that I really have a lot of respect for, ya know?
Eddie: I guess…but still you shoulda known you were going on a suicide run with a girl like Jessica. She’s…you know…
Tip: Just say it, Ed. She’s better than me. I know it. But damn, sometimes I like to take that chance, and maybe see if I can sneak one past the guy up there who’s dealing the cards. Maybe I could pull an Ace out one of these days, ya know?
Eddie: How about a Queen of Hearts?
Tip: I’ll take that. It’s just like…I dunno… like I go to a restaraunt, and I want Filet Mignon. I’m ready to pay, and I’m ready to tip the guy good and all, but he won’t let me. He wants to give me hamburger instead. Now, don’t get me wrong Ed, you know as well as I do that I love a big juicy hamburger. But sometimes I want filet mignon, sometimes it’s been a hard day at work or I just accomplished something that I’m proud of and dammit, I think I deserve the filet mignon, maybe just for one meal, maybe not forever, but at least for a little while.
And yet, I see across the restaraunt, some dumbass chowing down on Filet Mignon, and eating it like an absolute barbarian. He’s got ketchup globbed all over it, he’s not cutting it into reasonable pieces, he’s not savoring the flavor. He’s just smacking and slurping and inhaling a beautiful piece of meat with reckless abandon and no sort of respect or appreciation for such a fine cut of meat. To him, it’s just a piece of meat. Better than that, it’s Filet Mignon, it’s a status symbol. He can get it, so he does, but he doesn’t really deserve it or even really, truly understand it.
I appreciate a fine cut of meat like that. Not just for it’s cosmetic value, societal status, or plain taste. I appreciate the subtleties of it, the meaning behind it, the specialness of it. I enjoy it just the way it is, not covered in some salty sauce. I take the time to savor and truly enjoy my time with it, I let that filet mignon know that it is special and that filet mignon doesn’t come around every day. I make this moment count, this brief moment I get to share with something so…
Tip: Yeah, let’s go with that. But the damn waiter will only give me hamburger. And I don’t want hamburger tonight. Maybe next week I will, but tonight I’d like to have some filet mignon. It just seems like there’s always some asshole waiter in my way giving my filet mignon to some jerk who doesn’t deserve it.
You understand what I’m trying to get at?
Eddie: I think you’re just hungry.
Tip: Maybe you’re right. Hey, can we get some menus, please?
Bartender: (setting down their glasses) really? You’re actually going to eat here for once?
Tip: Yeah, why not.
Bartender: Well I’ll be damned.
Tip: You…you wouldn’t happen to have filet mignon, would you?
Bartender: sorry kid, but I got a porterhouse in the freezer that seems your type.
Tip: Sounds good. Medium rare, please
Eddie: She got a sister?
Bartender: What’ll ya have, boys?