Pat and Chris walk into a cafe and are greeted by a waiter.
WAITER: Welcome to The Psychic Cafe. We’ve been expecting you.
PAT: Oh my gawd, I can’t believe we’re actually here.
CHRIS: I know. Isn’t this AMAZING!
PAT: No. It’s not. It’s the opposite of amazing.
CHRIS: What is wrong with you?
WAITER: You’ll come this way and discuss that over drinks.
The waiter leads Pat and Christ to a table with drinks (a coffee mug and a glass) on it already.
WAITER: I’ll be back with your food by the time you start yelling at each other.
The waiter picks up the milk and sugar off the table and leaves.
CHRIS: Why would we yell at . . .
PAT: I hate this place.
CHRIS: Why? Don’t they have your favorite beverage waiting for you: a black coffee, no sugar?
PAT: But what if I want herbal tea? Or maybe I want milk and sugar in my coffee today?
CHRIS: But you don’t. Otherwise the psychic waiter would’ve left the milk and sugar on the table.
PAT: And of course we don’t get a menu. Not even a specials board? Nothing. Because nothing matters.
CHRIS: I don’t think you’re getting the whole concept of The Psychic Cafe. The kitchen staff already know . . .
PAT: Oh, I get it. I know that psychics were scientifically verified twelve years ago and that after the internment camps, the courts ordered their release . . .
CHRIS (muttered to self): Just as the psychics said they would.
PAT: . . . and that they were allowed to live and work among us, with certain restrictions.
CHRIS: Well, it’d hardly fair to let them gamble or work in the financial industry.
PAT: I don’t care what they do for a living. I care about what their very existence means to the basic concept of Free Will.
CHRIS: Just drink your coffee and wait for your . . .
PAT: My what? The meal I most want to eat, even though I didn’t know I wanted it?
CHRIS: Yes. That’s the amazing part. To have . . .
PAT: To have what? Someone know the future and that there’s nothing we can do to avoid it?
CHRIS: Well, we could’ve gone somewhere else for lunch if you really wanted to.
PAT: Really? Could I have, though? Really?
CHRIS: Calm down, you’re getting awfully worked up for someone about to get exactly what they want.
PAT: What I want is my sense of freedom back.
CHRIS: Nobody dragged you in here or held a gun to your head and forced you to come today.
PAT: But Fate did.
CHRIS: I think you mean “Destiny did.”
PAT: It doesn’t matter. None of it matters.
CHRIS: If you’re so unhappy, just go. Nobody’s keeping you from leaving.
PAT: Are you sure about that?
Chris looks around the empty cafe.
CHRIS: Well, I’m not going to stop you.
PAT: Remember a few years ago when this place first opened and Senator Browne, the person responsible for the psychic interment camps got one of the first reservation calls?
CHRIS: Yes, I do. He refused to come to the cafe, so there goes your . . .
PAT: And then Senator Browne slipped in that bowling alley and smashed his skull wide open on a bowling ball.
CHRIS: The news really didn’t need to show those photos. Thanks for reminding me.
PAT: Well what about this memory. Two years ago that fundamentalist preacher and his wife got a reservation call from this very cafe.
CHRIS: He was struck by lightning while trying to save his wife from a fatal rattlesnake bit.
PAT: Both dead, by mysterious circumstances, right after they made a big show of not keeping their reservation here.
CHRIS: Surely those are just coincidences and . . .
PAT: Coincidences? I can show you dozens of other “coincidences” from around the globe in the past five years of people who died shortly after not going to their Psychic Cafe reservation.
CHRIS: Good grief. We almost missed our reservations when traffic was diverted off the freeway and you got turned around and lost on the other side of town.
PAT: But then the car broke down and we had to call the tow truck which brought us to . . .
CHRIS: The garage across the street, a minute before our reservation time!
PAT: I even tried to get us lost on purpose, but . . .
CHRIS: You could’ve killed us!
PAT: Could have. Would have. Should have.
CHRIS: Why? What’s so wrong about The Psychic Cafe?
PAT: It means we don’t have any real choices in life. All our decisions are an illusion. We’re just organic cogs in Fate’s Machine.
CHRIS: I think you mean “Destiny’s Machine.”
PAT: Like it matters one way or another!
CHRIS: Let’s just get out of here. You’re freaking me out.
PAT: You should be freaked out! We should all be freaking out, all the freaking time!
CHRIS: Then, let’s go!
PAT: We can’t leave! We can’t be swept along by the River of Fate . . .
CHRIS (under breath): River of Destiny
PAT: . . . and dumped here, to just fly away whenever we want.
CHRIS: We could ask for a doggy-bag and . . .
PAT: Fate doesn’t give doggy-bags!
CHRIS: I think you mean . . .
PAT: Don’t you dare say “Destiny.”
The waiter returns with two to-go containers in bags and places them on the table.
WAITER: Here are your doggy-bags.
The waiter covers his/her ears just before Pat and Chris scream.
CHRIS: Why would you . . .
PAT: I keep telling you, it’s Fate and we can’t . . .
Chris holds up a finger to Pat and turns to the waiter.
CHRIS: Would you mind settling a minor disagreement for us about the difference between Fate and Destiny?
WAITER: I’m afraid I don’t have time for that at this moment, but to quickly answer your previous question about why I’m bringing you doggy-bags . . . The two of you are about to lock eyes and finally realize your deep and passionate love for one another. You won’t want to waste any more time with eating. So you’ll grab your food to go and find the nearest cheap hotel to mate like wild animals until you fall asleep into each other’s sweaty arms, awaking a few hours from now, famished for the food in these containers.
PAT: No.
CHRIS: That can’t be right.
PAT: We’re not a . . .
CHRIS: We’ve just . . .
PAT: And neither of us are . . .
CHRIS: Besides, we’re both . . .
The waiter bursts out laughing.
WAITER: I’m just messing with you. The kitchen is going to have a massive grease fire in exactly one minute from now, so you’ll want to take your lunches to go.
Chris and Pat look at each other, shake off an awkward look, and then grab their food before running off stage.
The waiter looks around for a moment.
WAITER: Now where did I put the fire extinguisher?