287 - With A Grain


 "Ach!" scoffs Tim. Casting his eyes down at a white salt and pepper packet on the diner table the two of you are seated at, his lip curls up in disgust.

"Problem with the condiments?" you ask jokingly.

"Another damn idea I thought of first!" Tim says, exasperated.

"You came up with salt and pepper?" you ask with a thick layer of skepticism covering your tongue.

"Well, not salt and pepper per se but, you know, mixing them together."

Your right eyebrow rises so high so quickly for a moment Tim thinks it might fly off your face.

"I mean, not the mixture, but the mixture in the packet. I was eating eggs at a Shoney's one morning in, oh, must have been September of ninety-four and I got tired of sprinkling salt from one packet and pepper from another. 'Somebody oughta mix these together,' I says to myself. Never did anything about it, though. Chalk that up on the board of missed opportunities."

"Yeah," you smile, "I'm sure the guy that pounced on this is sitting pretty in a mansion, just living off the patent royalties."

The joke seems to skip right off Tim's head.

"Yeah," he sighs. His eyes glaze over for a moment. "Fuck it. I'll get the next one."