The Salad Bar Man

1

On main street there is a restaurant. Inside that restaurant lives a salad bar. The restaurant is always full, but people always avoid the salad bar. Is it because of what it contains? Is it because of how it looks? Why?

On main street there is a man. He lives in a house. The house is grey. Every day, he goes to the restaurant. He ignores everything as the salad bar gets all of his attention. Why does he eat at the salad bar? Why is he breaking away from the norms? Why?

2

Every day, I go to the restaurant on main street. When I enter, I go to the salad bar. I never eat anything else but salad. Why? I wish I knew. There is something inside me, a force, an instinct, that makes me eat at the salad bar. Something inside me, yearns to go back to the salad bar. Something that I can’t control.

3

He is staring at the salad bar. His eyes are lost in a eternal abyss. Standing still, he remains there, staring at the tomatoes, as the world moves around him. Attention is not paid to him, nor does he pay any attention to anyone else. His face is blank, and it lacks what makes one human, emotion.

Slowly, his hand begins to move. He picks up some tomato and puts it into his bowl. He slowly makes his way down, filling his bowl. As the emptiness of his bowl is devoured, so is the lifelessness in his eyes. Once he reaches the end of the salad bar, he stops. Again, he stands perfectly still in front of the croutons, but now, his eyes show something they didn’t at the beginning of the salad bar, life.

4

I am waiting. I am thinking. I am considering every one of the infinite choices that have presented to me by the salad bar. Every choice matters. Doing the wrong thing may cost my life, or even worse, the life of one of my loved ones. But I need to do this, my soul is incomplete without it. This is my duty.

Slowly, it comes to me. I can see it. The way I need to go. Understanding has come to me, and I now know how to do it. Slowly, I begin. It is an art, to create a salad is an emotional journey, one that requires patience, accuracy, and feeling.

As I fill my bowl, I can feel the craving being filled up. I can sense that feeling in me being fulfilled. The energy in me has returned. Leaping, swirling, sliding. I slide through the rest of the salad bar with ease, I am finally, truly, complete.

I stop. I abruptly stop. Turning my head, I am met with the croutons. Slowly, I make my choice. I reach for the croutons, pick them up, set them in my bowl, pay, and then leave.

5

The salad bar man leaves. He walks down the street. In silence. Down the street and through the door of his home. Inside, he flicks on the light. He slowly makes his way towards a table with two empty chairs. The man sits down. From his bag, he pulls out the salad and slides it across the table, in front of the empty chair.

“I’m sorry Martha, I’m sorry.” And there he sits, with tears slowly rolling down his face, as the life drains out of his eyes.

“Mistakes are what controls your actions”