Celestial Soda Pops while the Tinman Sleeps

This happened a while back, about a year or so. I was meeting up with Bradley at a restaurant because my tummy was a rumblin’. My meal was already out by the time he got there, so I was already starting to eat. He sat down to shoot the breeze with me for a few minutes before ordering. The breadstick lady was making her rounds, “I’ll get some breadsticks for you gentlemen in a second.” We nodded in approval. Brad got up to go get some food, and when the lady came by to distribute breadsticks we had ourselves a little interaction that went like this:

“What happened to the other gentleman?”

“Huh?”

“Wasn’t there another guy sitting here?”

“Oh. Oh yeah. He’s getting food.”

“I knew someone was sitting here.” She starts piling the breadsticks on the table.

“Well, He was a hologram.”

“Yeah, that’s what I was thinking to myself: he was a hologram.”

Now, here’s my problem: I felt gypped, man. This woman totally and grossly misrepresented herself, and what for? I doubt that she was thinking to herself about the possibility that Brad was temporarily a reproduction of a three-dimensional image as a result of the splitting of a coherent beam of radiation, all taking place within the confines of Fazoli’s. What the hell’s her problem?!