Author's note: This story is an entrant into the
750 Word Project 2025
. As most everyone knows, it's difficult to write any story in 750- words. This one included. It seems every story has too much to say, and 750- words just isn't enough. But in this instance, I took a different approach. I took a version of an old joke and made it into a story. Some may have heard the joke before, but many may have not. Either way, I think it lent itself to a nice re-telling as a 750- word story. I hope you enjoy it, vote at the end, and comment as you feel appropriate. Below this introduction is precisely 750- words.
A man walks into a bar. Actually, in this case, it's a hotel restaurant. I'm the man. My name is Walter Pryszbilinski, a 34-year-old construction manager. I'm single, straight, white, bordering on middle-aged, and spend way too much time on the road.
Being married would be impossible as I travel approximately nine months of every year. Eventually, I want a relationship, but I don't want to start one with failure as an inevitability. So, I travel, I work, and I wait until such a time when I can prioritize being at home with a wife and children.
Now, with introductions out of the way, let me tell you about my dinner date last night. I was in Newark NJ. My team had just completed phase 1 of a project at the Port of Newark NJ, assembling a large container handling system. I am flying home to Portsmouth NH, out of Newark Liberty Airport, tomorrow morning at 7am. I have not been home for 6- weeks and am very excited to be leaving Newark for the beautiful White mountains. It's still cold, there's snow on the ground, and winter activities are all available. I love New Hampshire.
I am standing on-line at the hotel bar/restaurant, behind a very attractive woman. We chit-chat a bit, I introduce myself, and she does the same. I complement her dress, and she questions the origin of my Harsh New England accent. She comments that she loves New Hampshire, was raised in Boston, but now lives in Florida. The hostess then looks at her, she raises a single finger identifying her request for a table for 1. Then rudely, the hostess says to her, wait a minute, I'll be right back, leaving my new friend a little flummoxed.
After stewing for a moment, she mutters half to me, half to herself, "I hate eating alone."
So, as the hostess returned to her stand, clearly preoccupied with something else, I intruded into her train of thought, and said, "make that a table for two, shall we follow you?"