Saturday Night Specials, Part 1: The Malaysia Man

The crazies come out on Saturday night.

I don't know why. But our final hour of business on Saturday nights is inevitably filled with lunatics. We'll be well on our way to closing up -- cooks are putting away the food, I'm washing dishes, the servers are cleaning the dining room, Mini Boss or Big Boss is counting the money -- and the door will open to grant entrance to a living, breathing stack of crazy.

These next few entries will detail some of those special people. And we'll start with the most special of them all: the Malaysia Man.

It was about thirty minutes before closing time. I don't remember having a cook -- he may have already been sent home. But I was there, along with Mini Boss and a waitress.

The Malaysia Man entered, shuffling his feet, eyes darting back and forth. He was short, overweight, and balding. White guy, late fifties, early sixties. I think he had a hat. He made his way to the counter. The Malaysia Man smiled, a wide grin. Mini Boss greeted him.

"Can I help you?"
"YESYUCANGEMMEPEETZAWIDEMBBBBBBBBRRRAK-AK-AK!!"
"...?!"

We quickly learned that the Malaysia Man had a few...problems.

First, once he started talking to you, he couldn't seem to stop. Just constant, babble babble babble. This wouldn't be that much of an issue, really, except that he slurred every word together into an unintelligible slop, like a verbal garbage disposal. Again, that wouldn't be much a problem, either, except that he didn't really talk -- he shouted. At the top of his old man lungs.

And then, for seasoning, he'd throw a violent tic in at random intervals, just to keep you on your toes. It's almost impossible to capture in text -- the closest I can manage is bbbbbrak-ak-ak! And while he'd do that, he'd twitch his left shoulder and scrunch up his face like he was holding back a sneeze.

"GEMMEPEZAEVRTHANGGEMELOTSACHEEZBBBRAK-AK-AK!!"

I was supposed to be washing the dishes, but instead I hid behind the soda machine, watching Mini Boss try to take this guy's order. It took him about ten minutes -- and all he ordered was one pizza.

Mini Boss told the guy it'd be about fifteen minutes, and quickly retreated back to make the pizza, relieved to get away from the noise. We shared a look.

What the fuck?

But while Mini Boss had an out -- "Gotta make the pizza!" -- our poor waitress had no such escape route. She was stuck cleaning the dining room, and so had to listen to the Malaysia Man's cacophonous onslaught. I pitied her. Until I realized I would have to go out there to put some dishes away. Would I be caught as well? I grabbed the plates and eased my way out. Maybe he'd be distracted yelling at her and wouldn't see me.

No such luck -- she wasn't there. Cleaning somewhere else, I supposed. So when I stepped into the dining room, the Malaysia Man aimed and fired.

"GOTSAPEETZATAGLAFIRAETECASABBBBRRRAK-AK-AK!!"
"Uh...you bet."

Now, here's my problem: I'm unfailingly polite to the customers. So when this guy started talking to me, I didn't want to just walk away. Instead, I stood and waited for him to finish. Seven minutes later, he hadn't stopped for air. I interrupted him, telling him I had dishes to do, and slipped away before he could get going again. As I retreated, I saw Mini Boss laughing at me.

I stayed in the back, washing dishes and letting them pile up -- I could put them away after he left. No way was I getting stuck in that again. All the while, I could hear him shouting in the background -- someone was certainly getting an earful.

While I waited for a dishwashing cycle to finish, I stepped away from the machine, back to the hall that leads to the kitchen. At the other end of the restaurant, I saw Mini Boss wiping down a counter. He saw me...and froze. His face twisted in confusion. I lifted my hands, palms up -- a "What's up?" gesture.

Mini Boss crept -- slowly, ever so slowly -- from his place by the oven to where I stood. "I thought you were in the dining room," he whispered.

"No," I said. I whispered, too, but only because he had. "I've been washing dishes. Why?"

Mini Boss jerked a thumb toward the front of the building. "If you've been back here, who the fuck is he talking to?"

We were silent. We both heard him -- still shouting an unbroken stream of syllables. Together, we tiptoed back to the front, careful to make no noise. We reached the entrance to the dining room and looked out.

The Malaysia Man stood in the center of the room, leaning on a table, shouting at no one. No one at all.

"I thought he was talking to you," Mini Boss said.

"I thought he was talking to the waitress," I said.

"She went home five minutes ago," he said, and we each saw the horror on the face of the other.

It's a rare thing, to come face-to-face with actual lunacy. We use the word "crazy" casually, but when you actually see it -- actually see an old man shouting nonsense to his imaginary friend -- it's pretty frightening. And, to be honest, inexplicably hilarious.

About that time, his pizza came out of the oven. Mini Boss boxed it and presented to the man, and you could tell he was glad to be rid of him.

While paying for his order, the old man noticed the manufacturer's stamp on the cash register. Why? Who the hell knows. But he did, and he babble something about the company that made it. He also noticed a sentence printed below the logo: Made in Malaysia.

He seemed to rejoice then, and started telling us about the time he lived in Malaysia. (At least, I think that's what he was saying -- if you listened to him long enough, you could almost pick the words out. Almost.) For another two or three minutes, Mini Boss and I nodded politely and waited for him to leave.

Finally, the Malaysia Man picked up his pizza and told us he'd have to be off. He shouted that he'd love to stay, but his wife was waiting for him in the car -- she loves our pizza, that's why he always comes here. Of course, we'd never seen the guy before, but who's counting?

He turned and headed for the door. Mini Boss and I shared another look, the both of us coming to the same realization at the same time.

His wife?

We swung around to the dining room, scampering for the door, trying to get a glimpse and this lunatic's wife. We saw the man reach his car, saw him open the door and climb inside. And his wife? Well, you can answer that, can't you?

The Malaysia Man turned in his seat, still talking, and offered the pizza to his passenger: nobody. No one.

As we watched, he continued to talk. He put the pizza in the empty seat (did he think his wife was holding it?), and started the car. He kept talking, and as we watched, his speech became more animated. He started gesturing violently with one hand, and then we realized -- he was arguing. With no one.

The Malaysia Man screamed in defiance at his hypothetical companion for a few more minutes, and then -- finally-- put his car in gear and drove away.

Mini Boss and I watched in silence for a moment. We turned to one another.

"What the fuck?" he said.

And then we just couldn't stop laughing.