It’s Sunday night. The dinner rush is over. I’m reconciling my tips when Saroya comes up to me.

“Look at this,” she says, holding a business card in front of my face.

I look at the card. It reads “PICK A NUMBER 1 2 3 4.”

“What’s this?” I ask.

“The customers on table nine left it with my tip.”

“Ok,” I say. “I’ll play along. I pick 3.”

Saroya turns the card over. It reads, “ALL SEX MANIACS PICK 3. ALL OTHERS ARE NORMAL HUMAN BEINGS.”

“You’ve got my number babe,” I say laughing. “What can I tell you?”

“I’m a 3 too!” Saroya says, squealing with delight.

“You don’t say?” I reply. “I wonder what number your boyfriend would pick?” Armando, our sous chef, is Saroya’s boyfriend.

“Let’s find out,” she says. We walk into the kitchen and show Armando the card.

“I pick number 2,” Armando says.

“Oh too bad…….,” I say, turning to Saroya.

Armando looks confused. Saroya turns the card over.

Armando reads the card and makes a sour face. “So what?” he says.

“Dude, your girlfriend picked three,” I say.


“Man, what’s your problem? Can’t keep up with her?”

“Bullshit,” Armando snorts. “Besides its not good if both people are sex maniacs. One person has to be normal.”

Saroya and I look at each other.

“Hey man,” I say shrugging, “I picked three. But whatever you want to believe is fine.”

“Gimme a break,” Armando says testily.

“Take it easy Armando,” I say. “Think about some of the other waiters we’ve had here. Saroya and I can’t hold a candle to them.”

“That’s true.”

“Remember Alexis?” I ask. “That cute waitress we had here a couple of years ago?”


“She’s this month’s centerfold in PORNO MAG.”

“No way!” Armando says, “Really?”


“Did you see it?”

“The magazine?”


“Not yet,” I reply, “But Alexis is around. I’m sure she’ll drop off a copy.”

“You better not be looking at Alexis naked,” Saroya warns.

“Who me?” Armando says innocently, “Of course not.”

Alexis is not a sex maniac. She’s doing what she thinks she needs to be doing. But we’ve had some other characters, customers and staff, whose predilections make my wildest fantasies look like Disney films.

“Hey,” Louis says, walking into the kitchen, “What’s going on?”

We show him the card and explain the situation. I proudly announce my sex maniac status.

“You are not a sex maniac,” Louis says.

“How do you know?” I reply.

“Cause you’re not.”

“I guess I better not tell you about the dungeon,” I say.


“And that new leather hood I ordered off the internet.”

“Are you for real?”

“You know the ones with the zipper where the mouth is supposed to be?”

“Ugh,” Louis says, throwing up his hands. “Too much information!”

“Then there’s my butter fetish……”

Louis runs out of the room. Saroya and I start cracking up. I’m not really that freaky. But after working in psych for so many years I can do a fair imitation. I can’t believe how hot under the collar some people get. Amazing how a novelty item can become a Rorschach test for people’s sexual mores and expectations.

“Hey Saroya,” I ask, “Can I have that card?”

“What are you going to do with it?” she says, handing it too me.

I tuck the card in my pocket. The wheels of my sick little mind begin to turn.

“I don’t know yet,” I say. “But I’ll think of something.”

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