“Thanks for agreeing to meet me at this restaurant,” said Marcus Thornton as he sat down in a corner booth of Old Country Buffet. “It really helps me be more comfortable than meeting in a conference room. I’m gonna go get some food now.”
The two Wizards front-office executives waited patiently for Marcus to return with his plate of food. When Marcus sat down again, he wasted no time in noisily pushing food into his mouth with a fork in each hand.
“Um, did you bring your agent?” One of the executives, a youngish man in his thirties, asked.
Marcus paused his gustatory performance. “Yeah, he’s making reservations for us four to have dinner somewhere. I told him money was no object.”
The two executives exchanged worried glances. “I thought this was dinner?” asked the older of the two.
“Nope. Just an appetizer. Hey, did you know that they let you put the mac and cheese on top of the mashed potatoes if you want? Then you can put the gravy right on top of the noodles and make it like a three-layer casserole!” Marcus snorted in laughter as he contemplated his culinary genius, then resumed eating his custom creation.
“Well, we let’s get down to business. I’m sure your agent informed you that the Wizards are very interested in bringing you on board.”
Marcus again stopped eating and seemed to be rummaging in his pockets for something. “Shut up for a sec. They’re in here somewhere…” After a few seconds, Marcus triumphantly brought out a handful of broken tortilla chips. “These are great on pretty much everything,” he announced, tossing the entire collection on top of his piled-high plate as if it were a delicate garnish of parsley.
Another worried glance passed between the two besuited men. “Given what we’ve heard from other GM’s, adherence to a special-made dietary plan might be a condition of your contract,” said the older executive.
Wordlessly, Marcus pulled out his phone and dialed a number. “Yo, these guys wanna talk business, can you get your butt over here? We’ll figure out the reservation later. Or, there’s a Cracker Barrel right across the street, we can just eat there. Yeah. Yeah. Okay. See you.” Marcus put down his phone, then addressed the executives. “My agent will be here soon. I’m gonna get another couple plates while we wait.” He scooted his way out of the booth and jogged to the stack of clean plates.
In a few minutes, he returned with three plates balanced on his arms. “The fried chicken here is too good. I load up every time. Oh, hey, you’re here!” he said, noticing his agent had arrived. “I’m going to sit in this booth over here. All the contract stuff bores me, to be honest. As long as the number is in the millions, I’ll sign whatever papers you put in front of me.”
Marcus toddled to a booth on the opposite side of the restaurant, being careful not to drop any food. The rest of the contract negotiation was regularly interrupted by loud burps and contented sighs.