Jack McKay knew something was wrong as soon as he opened his mouth to order lunch. It had been a long morning of anchoring the news. There were thirty-seven minutes on air narrating a slow moving police chase, officers were pursuing a man driving a stolen John Deere riding mower through a suburban neighborhood, and there were twenty-one minutes of continuous coverage of a storm that was still two days away. As he knew all too well by now, the storm was expected to bring either drizzle, or rock-sized hail to the area.
McKay was tired, and when he took his usual seat at the table in the little restaurant down the street from the station, he felt as if he would fall asleep on the spot. The feeling of fatigue after a long shift in the anchor chair wasn’t new to him, but what happened next was new.
“What are we having today, Jack?” Carol, one of the waitresses, asked.
“Eyewitnesses say McKay ordered the Cobb salad, dressing on the side. He proceeded to add a large, unsweetened iced tea to the order,” he said, in perfect news-speak.
Carol looked up from her order pad and stared at him. “Ah, okay, well that was different. So the usual, right Jack? Cobb salad, dressing on the side, and the iced tea?”
McKay felt odd, and not at all sure of what just happened, and spoke again. “When asked to verify his order, McKay responded to the waitress that the original order was indeed correct. He made no additional comments during the exchange.”
Carol’s eyes were wide now, and she bit her lower lip to try and crush the laugh that was bubbling around inside her. “Okay, Jack,” she said. Then she shuffled a little bit like she was getting herself together for an audition.
“Wait, let me try,” she said, taking a breath and then speaking in a deep voice. “Carol Akins, the waitress responded that she would get the order started right away. Carol the waitress then turned to leave,” she said, turning and walking over to the waitress station.
McKay watched as Carol spoke to Brenda, the other lunchtime waitress. He was now sorry he had paid the $10,000 for the sophisticated and minuscule hearing aid his wife had urged him to buy, because he could her every syllable of their conversation.
“Bren,” Carol said, “I think something’s wrong with Jack. Either that, or he’s yanking my chain big time.”
“What happened?” Brenda asked.
“He just gave me his order like it was a news story. Like he was reading off the prompter or something. It was kinda freaky.”
“Aw, he’s probably just playing with you, I bet,” Brenda said.
“No, no, I don’t think so. Jack is not really the playing type. I think maybe he’s snapped.”
“Well, he is under a lot of pressure. They got that good looking young guy anchoring weekend mornings. Maybe he feels threatened.”
“Go ask him something,” Carol said. “Maybe it was just me, or maybe I didn’t hear him clearly.”
McKay watched Brenda coming toward him. He felt unsteady and scared, and wondered what the hell was going on.
“Hey, Jack,” Brenda said, “the Cobb is going to be just a little bit, okay? We’re just getting some fresh bacon cooked up to sprinkle on it. You know, only the freshest for our anchorman.”
He opened his mouth and as soon as he heard the first word come out in his booming anchorman voice, he knew it was a mistake. It was like his brain took off on its own when he tried to speak.
“McKay acknowledged the delay in his lunch order, but issued no further comment on the situation.”
Now it was Brenda who stood and stared at him like he was a madman. “Ooooookay,” she said. “Okie, dokie. And I guess I’ll be back right after this commercial break.”
She turned and left, and when she reached Carol, he heard her say, “I need to get into that kitchen right now before I pee myself right here in the dining room.”
He watched the two women convulse in laughter and retreat into the kitchen. He sat there alone, terrified by what was happening to him. Twice now he had spoken as if he were reading a teleprompter, and referring to himself in the third person. It was like circuits in his brain had been crossed, and he was unable to speak like a normal person.
He looked around the dining room. It was eleven-thirty and before the lunch rush. Thank God the restaurant wasn’t crowded yet with people wanting to say hello, and maybe ask for an autograph. He loved the attention the job brought him most days, but please, not right now, he thought to himself.
He saw Hector, the owner, glance at him from behind the counter at the cash register. McKay gave a big, emphatic thumbs up, and flashed an ear to ear smile with his blindingly white teeth in an effort to preempt the man from possibly coming over to talk to him.
Hector returned the gesture with a small nod, and his own thumbs up. But both appeared half-hearted, and accompanied by a look of concern. He thinks I’m an idiot, McKay thought.
Next he pretended to be absorbed with his phone, scrolling mindlessly through his work emails, not wanting to catch the eye of anyone else. He rehearsed in his head what he would say to Carol when she brought his order to him. He was going to have to speak, or was he? He decided he would try to just simply thank her and see how that worked out.
He looked up to see an elderly woman making her way toward him. Oh good Lord, no, he thought. Why do these old ladies like me? She was in her mid-seventies, maybe older, with curly white hair. She smiled and gave him a little wave. He smiled back.
“Mr. McKay, I just want to say I am such a big fan. I’ve been watching you for twenty years,” she said, when she reached him.
He smiled and tried to look pleasant, but at the same time he kept his jaw locked tightly in place for fear of speaking. He ended up offering a smile through clenched teeth, realizing he looked as if he were stricken with the worst case of gas in the history of humanity.
The old woman was talking a mile a minute, mentioning stories big and small he had delivered from behind the anchor desk. He saw Carol coming toward him and felt a line of sweat forming on his brow. This was it. He was going to have to speak at some point, and he knew it wasn’t going to end well.
“And here’s the Cobb salad, Jack,” Carol said, putting the bowl down and then turning to the woman. “I bet you’re too nice to ask, but I can just tell you’d love an autograph from Jack,” Carol said.
McKay watched the woman’s face light up. “Oh my, how did you know. I was trying to get up the nerve to ask.”
“I thought so,” Carol said, pulling her pad from her apron and ripping out a blank sheet. She had a pen in McKay’s hand before he knew what hit him. “And what’s your name dear?” Carol asked her.
“Katherine, but everyone calls me Kat,” the woman said.
McKay signed the paper and included a little note thanking her for watching, and heard Carol say, “Jack’s been battling a little laryngitis, or something and trying to rest his voice.”
“Oh, I am so sorry,” the woman said, smiling at him and saying, “I’ll let you eat in peace, and feel better.”
McKay watched the woman leave, then looked at Carol and mouthed the words, “thank you,” but didn’t dare to try and articulate them. Carol gave him a wink and a smile, and turned to leave.
He started on his salad and occasionally glanced over to the waitress station to see Carol keeping watch over the dining room, eyeing the people trickling in. He felt a sense of peace for a moment, knowing she had his back.
He texted his wife asking, “You home?”
“Yes,” came her response. “Everything ok?”
“I don’t know,” he texted.
(To be continued…)