What’s Your Type? Or the Wackiest Party Ever.
Sherry Caris

A Fusion Bistro In A Not Yet Completely Gentrified Area Of Town

an ENFP dinner

Okay Sherry Caris, here you go.

And Gloria DiFulvio, you better have made it.

“Can I take your order?”

The waitress and her question are met with a collective, puzzled look from the group. She notices that most of the menus are closed. The way they were when she delivered them to the group ten minutes ago.

Kali, the former preschool play therapist turned midwife turned alternative documentary film maker feels that the group’s energy is willing her to answer. In reality, no one else heard the waitress.

“Oh, we are leaning towards eating as an expression of our collective emotions. So, nix the menu. Let’s talk broader themes.”

Oh fuck, it’s the talkers again, the waitress realizes as the pit settles at the base of her stomach.

“What did you have in mind?”, she asks with a not so subtly forced smile.

“Bring us something fresh, something … exquisitely complex in its simplicity, with several layers of taste that will awaken those long forgotten regions of our palettes.”

The waitress looks at Kali with a glazed expression.

“Isn’t that right everyone?” Kali asks, ever mindful to decentralize the hierarchy inherent to her ordering for the group.

Everyone nods and mumbles in agreement, too caught up in discussions over the greater meaning behind the Edson bulb light fixtures and the interesting choice of mason jars for the white Sangria spritzers with organic star fruit and blue pear.

The waitress returns with 6 orders of grilled cheese on white with a side of Dijon.

“Anything else?” she asks, praying the answer is a no.

“Actually, when you get a moment can you outline your thought process for the grilled cheese. Say, through a traditional Peruvian folk dance. With a twist?” Kali asks.

“I may be on break.”

Retreating to the kitchen, the waitress rolls her eyes at Dan the dishwasher. “Not that damn folk song dance again?” Dan asks, knowing the answer.

“Yes”, the waitress groans.

“Don’t worry, by the time they finish the grilled cheese they’ll be on to something else. Happens every week.”

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