Ten minutes to write. Less time to read.

The man was heavy in the middle, with a girth I couldn’t possibly have put my arms around. Not that I intended to.

Earl and I were waiting by the hostess desk for our table at Papa Vino’s earlier this evening when the man, who had a neatly tied ponytail, strode from the restaurant through the doors to the outside. He talked loudly with one of those things in his ears that looks like a giant cockroach, but which enables one to talk on the phone with free hands.

Earl and I were still waiting when he re-entered the restaurant and approached the hostess desk. “I need a pen,” he demanded. The hostess, a young woman, raised the pen in her hand and said, “I’m sorry; this is my only one.” He glowered, as if restaurants were required to meet secretarial needs as well as culinary ones. He reached over the desk, grabbed the pen and a pad of paper that rested there. As he turned to go back outside, the woman said, “Sir?” as if that would stop him. “I’ll be back soon,” he said over his shoulder and went his way.

Just then we were invited to our table, which happened to be in a cozy section of the bar. We settled in and ordered our cocktails when I noticed the burly man enter and join a couple at the bar. I have no idea whether he returned the pen or the pad of paper, but my first impression of him was set. And it wasn’t a complimentary one.