Short Story: The Soup

The soup was on the table. It was about time. I had been waiting on this soup for two hours, so it had better be good.

It looked okay, well as good as soup can look, it smelled okay as well. I dipped my spoon into warm soup and took a sip. It actually tasted good. I took another spoon full, however, this time something far less appetizing was amongst the liquid.

I had pulled up a whole cockroach. The thing was huge, easily the size of my hand. I placed it on the table cloth and calmly called a waiter.

“Yessssssssss,” he said with a smile.

“I found this insect in my soup,” I replied.

“Which one?”

“This one”

“Where?”

“Here!”

“Where is here?”

“On the table!”

“Ahhhhhhh... this one?”

“Yes that one,” I was really starting to get annoyed with the staff at this restaurant.

“Let me take care of this for you,” he said.

The waiter tilted his head back and sent the roach down his gullet. I was more than a little disturbed.

“Now, let me get you a new soup, sir.” He took the bowl and pranced back into the kitchen. The manner in which he moved reminded me of PePe Le Pew.

All I could do was bury my face in my hands and pray, to anything that would listen, for a safe meal. A few minutes later a new bowl of piping hot soup flew out of the kitchen and was on my table.

This one looked really good. I was about to start eating when the over weight chef dove from the kitchen screaming,

“Niiiiiiiieeeeennn!”

He soared through the air like a blubbery albatross. All that were unlucky enough to stand in his way were sent flying like bowling pins.

Before I could even twitch, he plunged his hands into the soup and produced a small lizard. He ran back to the kitchen, cradling it as though it were his own child.

I stood up and left.