[ WP ] Food Court is an actual court with judge and jury

“ You may approach. ” He heard as the order taker, robed in black, signaled for his order. 
 
 Hank Kowalski was a daily patron of the Municipal Food Court. He relished the variety of offered indulgences all housed under one roof. He adored the fact that cuisine of virtually any sort could be acquired and absorbed in less time than it took him to actually decide what he wanted to eat. Of course, Hank ’ s fondness for dietary abundance left him looking more and more like the barnyard stock he longed to consume. 
 
 As the order taker listened to his order, Hank perceived a sense of discernment in the man ’ s eyes. It was one he had not observed previously. Today, unlike days past, he was assigned a number, 57, and told to wait for his order in an adjacent seating area. 
 
 During his grueling wait, the anxious diner observed a string of workers, all of whom had served him previously. As they approached the order taker one by one, Hank watched as each worker conversed with the order taker. During each exchange Hank felt an occasional quick, yet sanctimonious stare in his direction. The order taker listened to each worker ’ s claim intently, asking follow up questions and hastily jotting notes. 
 
 “ Hope you have better luck than I did, ” remarked a particularly portly passerby while discarding her half-eaten tray of produce. Befuddled, Hank paid the woman a skittish nod. 
 
 It had been nearly 10 minutes since Hank had placed his ample order. He awaited the wealth of gastronomic indulgence he regularly enjoyed at this hour. His mouth watered as he wondered if he was a subject in some modern-day Pavlovian experiment. 
 
 “ 57. ” It was as if everything was right in the world in the moment he heard is number called. Hank marched to the counter as a proud Olympian ready to receive his medal. He spotted the familiar red tray adorned with a plastic cutlery set, with which he was so intimately familiar. As he neared the counter he noticed something peculiar, even startling. The black plastic dish from which he had enjoyed innumerable quantities of calorie-rich extravagance was empty. It might as well have been an empty drinking glass in the middle of a barren desert. 
 
 “ Where ’ s my food? I ’ ve been waiting forever, “ he exclaimed angrily. 
 
 “ Mr. Kowalski, ” the order taker replied sternly. “ You ’ ve been sentenced to the salad bar. Please help yourself. ” 
 
 
 

