Phoenix looked a little green for a moment, then shook his head, looking back down at the menu. "I, ah -- I'm not sure I have a lot of experience with French-" he began, only to halt as the waitress sidled up, looking at them curiously.

"Still need some time?"

Oh, right. Wait staff. Waiting on our entire conversation. Oops. Phoenix at least had the good grace to look chagrined, scanning the menu and answering with the first thing he saw that was boxed in with decorative dark red in that distinctive small-restaurant 'we like this one!' way. "Country-fried steak?"

"Good choice!" She scratched out the order on her notepad, not looking up. "What kind of potato? And soup or salad?"

". . . fries, I guess. Salad with Italian dressing. And can I just get a water?"

"Sure thing." She glanced to the other occupant of the table next. "And you, sir?"