Two Fat Queens

We walked into the city and ate Ramon at the newest and latest place in town. Said by some, to be the best Ramon in Melbourne. We queued on Russell Street on the broken footpath, between two exits for car parks, still, the sun was shining. They open at midday, there was already a queue by 12.05. We queued up for about half an hour. Sam thought it was a huge joke that he got me to queue up for food in Melbourne, a thing that I always say I will never do.
When we got in, we were sitting facing a wall on a wall table with stools. They had clearly been cleaning carefully after people had eaten, there were still two places next to us. There wasn’t much room, however.

“I hope they aren’t going to put those two fat queens here,” I said pointing to the two spare stools. Completely forgetting that the two fat queens were in front of us in the queue. I said it as I gazed out over the café, you know as you do when you first get somewhere. You look around. I said it as I looked directly at the two fat queens sitting at the table behind us.   Well, kind of next to us. I was vague, I don’t know why? Hands in the air? But I didn’t see them.    

I looked back at Sam.

He was wincing.

The penny dropped. “It was the down syndrome guy and his girlfriend who was behind us in the queue,” wasn’t it?”

You’ve got amuse yourself some how when you are standing in a queue that wasn’t going anywhere for that amount of time. I made comment about everybody around me. I think I’d nicknamed the two fat queens Jean and Bunny.

Sam chastised me yet again for being handicaphobic. “He wasn’t down syndrome  he demanded. He may have punched, slapped the table for emphasis.

I knew he wasn’t down syndrome, but it is the only way I remember people. “You’ve got to admit that he looked like it.” I couldn’t help but smile, even though I tried not to.

It was pea and ham, that was this establishment's speciality.
He gave me that “enough” look. Alarmed. “They are sitting right there,” he whispered to me, opening his mouth very little, and tilting his head just like John Cleese would in a sketch, kind of tilted forward.
I grimaced, I could feel my cheeks crease up. “The two fat queens?

“A ha.”

“Was I loud?” The soup was good. Pig bone and a whole lot of other ingredients and some peas.
“Loud enough.” He winced and shook his head. “And you even seem proud about it.”

I was smiling, I have got to be honest. “And it was the down syndrome guy behind us all along?” I exclaimed. Both hands in the air.

Guess who they sat down on the two stools next to us, just as I said that. If he hadn’t heard before, and I could almost guarantee he hadn’t, he certainly had by the time he was shown to his seat. Sam nudged me, looking alarmed.

I scooped the last few spoonful’s of soup. It was yum.

I looked at Sam. He had big eyes, hurriedly looking away. He tried to ignore me, but I knew he that he knew that I knew that really he knew what I had just done. I cleared my throat. Sam looked around the room as if he was looking for a waiter. I nudged him. He momentarily, just for a milli second, looked at down syndrome guy. There, you know.

Ironically, down syndrome guy was, actually, quite good looking, quite handsome. It is just that you don’t expect a Chinese face to be that shape, but some how he was. His looks changed like shot material from monster to pretty movie star and back again in one glance. Technically, two, I guess. Ugly/beautiful. Ugly/beautiful. It was dazzling, in one sense, and repellent in another.

Then Sam looked at me. “Let’s go.” He punched me in the arm.

“Me and my big mouth. I must learn to speak quieter.”

“Shh,” said Sam.