How Will You Take Your Steak?

“The steak, well-done.”

“Well-done?” shouted Luke, “Who the hell gets their steak cooked well-done?”

“I don’t know,” Tim barked back, “people who don’t want to get some sort of disease from eating raw meat?”

“Disease?!” Luke slammed his hands down on the table. “The thing’s being cooked at scalding hot temperatures, I doubt just cause there’s a little pink inside that there’s a ton of diseases in there! They’d have to’ve died off!”

“Oh, that’s real comforting Luke,” Tim said, shaking his head. “Just cause it’s hot… You know, some bacteria can survive at very high temperatures! They’re not like you and me!”

“Shut up man,” Luke waved Tim off, “You have no right getting a steak if you’re going to order it like that.” He quickly looked at the waiter, who was standing like a deer in the headlights, “Dude,” he grabbed the guy’s wrist, a little too tight. “how do you order your steak?”

The poor waiter, a kid probably no older than 17, swallowed hard; terrified to get in the middle of this. Sweat dripped down his brow and he reached up with the napkin he always kept in his waiter’s apron to wipe it off. “Um, I really don’t know,” he choked.

“Oh come on,” Luke reached up and grabbed the plastic name tag (with all different stickers stuck to it) that was pinned to the waiter’s shirt, “Mike,” he laughed, “tell my friend here how you order your steak done. I’m interested.”

“I really don’t…” the kid tried.

“Oh leave the kid alone, asshole. He’s just trying to do his job and you’re making things hard for him,” yelled Tim.

“No, no,” Luke stated, with authority, putting his hand out in front of him, “let the boy talk.” He turned to look back at the waiter. “So Mike?”

“Um,” the waiter began, looking pale, “I’m actually a vegetarian.”

“HA!” laughed Tim loudly, smacking the table so hard that Luke’s glass of water fell over, pouring onto his lap.

“Oh, good going!” shouted Luke. “Now look what you’ve done!”

“Oh, let me go get some…” the waiter stammered, trying to find an excuse to leave the table.

“No, no Mike,” laughed Tim. “We’re fine. Luke doesn’t mind. He’ll be okay.”

“You know, I drove you here,” Luke threatened, pointing at Tim.

“So Mike,” smiled Tim, “you’re a vegetarian. Very interesting,” he said, turning his head towards Luke, with a grin.

“Mmmhmm,” swallowed the waiter.

“See Luke,” started Tim, face turning red, “other people find a problem with eating meat too! Some people see that it’s healthier to avoid meat as it’s not smart to eat other mammals! Isn’t that right Mike?! We all don’t need to be blood-thirsty carnivores, do we?!”

“Well I just don’t like the idea of killing animals,” whimpered the waiter.

“See!” exclaimed Luke. “You’re deranged! At least this little punk-ass is doing it for some tree-hugger bull s**t reason! You’re a hypochondriac who is terrified that you’re going to get ill from eating a f**king medium rare steak!”

“F**k Luke,” shouted Tim, lifting off of his seat a little, leaning across the table, “it’s widely believed that beef leads to Alzheimer’s disease!”

“That’s just made up bull!” Luke sat back in his seat, crossing his arms.

“Yeah?” shouted Tim, “Well I’m sorry if I don’t want to forget everything as I get older!”

“You’re only 27 dude! What do you have to worry about! Stop eating beef when you’re sixty or seventy then!”

“By then it’ll be too late!”

“Too late… You’re nuts,” scoffed Luke.

“You can never be too sure,” said Tim, calming down a bit. “What about what happened with that whole mad cow thing? I mean, if you need me eating beef that badly, I feel that if I at least eat it well-done, maybe everything will really be killed. I don’t know,” he pouted slightly, falling back into his seat.

“What do you mean that I need you to eat beef?” asked Luke, concern showing on his face.

“You know what I mean,” Tim grumbled, flexing his arm and feeling the muscle as to avoid eye contact with Luke. “You’re into hunting and eating your kills and all that. I mean, if you could have meat as the only part of every meal, you’d probably be fine with that.”

“So?”

“So how do I fit into that?”

“What do you mean?” Luke laid his arms on the table.

“I don’t like the idea of hunting, and before I met you I was a vegetarian, and,” he dropped his head, “I don’t know.”
“You think I wouldn’t love you if you didn’t eat meat?” asked Luke, reaching out to touch Tim’s arm.

“Well, I mean, look at this fight we just had, in the middle of a crowded restaurant, the looks we’re getting, just because I wanted to order my steak well-done.”

“Tim,” said Luke, in an uncharacteristically soft voice, “you don’t need to try to be like me. If I wanted to be with another meat-crazed hunter, why would I have ever have started dating you?”

“I don’t know,” Tim scowled, peeking up slightly at Luke, “‘Cause you don’t like being single?”

“You’re an ass, you know that?” laughed Luke, punching Tim hard in the arm. “You really are.” He got out from his side of the table and went around to Tim’s side and slid into the booth next to him, putting his arm around Tim’s shoulders. “I love you for you, jackass,” he said, as he kissed his cheek. 

Tim smiled.

“Okay,” Luke announced, looking at the waiter, who still seemed very terrified of the large man named Luke, who had turned his eyes back upon him. “Mike, was it?” he asked, not waiting for an answer, “I’ll take the steak, medium rare, give me as much bloody juice as you legally can give me, and he’ll take the Santa Fe Salad, without the chicken.” He looked back at Tim. “I know it’s your favorite,” he said, standing up, punching him in the shoulder, while going back to his side of the booth, “but don’t be getting all mushy with me now. You know I hate that s**t!”