A passing observer would have seen him fidgeting with the cutlery and condiments on his table. But it was far from fidgeting. It was routine, the product of discipline and righteous repetition. When he was seated, the waitress casually plopped down the items onto the table - in a carefree manner consistent with lunch hour service. While she thought nothing of it, heading quickly to the next table, he was instantly preoccupied with ordering the table setting. Everything had to be just right. He arranged and re-arranged the cutlery, salt and pepper shakers, and ketchup bottle. This continued for some time until he found equilibrium.
“What’s that you are having?” he asked a patron seated at an adjacent table.
“Chicken-and-something linguini.”
“Looks good,” he opened up the menu in search of chicken-and-something linguini. His search for the menu item mirrored the meticulousness he invested in the table setting. His fellow patron, hoping to be of some assistance, directed him to the pasta section of the menu.
“Oh, roasted garlic and chicken linguini.”
“Yes.”
“It does looks good, but I think I’m going with the clam linguini. I like seafood.” His fellow lunch patron nodded in agreement as he finished chewing his pasta.
“If you like seafood, then this is definitely your town.”
“Yes, it is. This is quite the change for me. At my last locale, seafood was a rarity.”
“Where was that?”
“Vienna.”
“Oh, I see. What were you doing in Vienna?”
“I lived in a monastery. I was studying to become a monk.”
“Like Rasputin?”
"Yes and No. Yes, a monk. No, not Rasputin."
"I suppose no one would want to be known as a mad monk."
"I suppose not," he replied while signalling to the waitress that he was ready to register his order. His fellow patron returned to his roasted garlic and chicken pasta dish.
"So you ready to order?"
"Yes, I would like to order the clam linguini."
"Okay, the clam linguini then."
"Oh, does it have parmesan in it?"
"Yeah, I think it does."
"Oh, parmesan is terrible in seafood dishes. Could you please hold the parmesan?"
"Can do." But as she was turning to place the order, he once again interjected.
"You use nothing but fresh clams, right?"
"That is what it says on the menu."
"Ah, yes. But I have been mislead by such claims before."
The waitress paused for a second. She restrained herself, not wanting to come across as being brusk. The bluster of the lunch rush made picky customers the bane of her existence. Valuing her tips, she often employed some finesse in dealing with such customers. He was no exception. She swooped her ample chest to eye-level and assured him that everything, at least at this eatery, was on the up and up.
"Darling, the only way to get clams fresher than these would be to grab them straight out of the sea. Now you wouldn't want little old me to go to those lengths, would ya? So can I go put in the order, sans the parmesan naturally?"
Not knowing what to do with display, he nodded sheepishly, ostensibly confirming the food order. The waitress walked away, contented with a job well done. He turned his head ever so slightly to catch a glimpse of her haughty backside. A smirk emerged on his face, only to vanish just as quickly - displaced by his usually disciplined and stoic visage. He again rearranged the items on his table, sensing that its equilibrum had been disturbed. His fellow patron, however, chose to interject once again and reinitiated conversation, now without the distraction of a meal.
"So what motivated you to become a monk?"
"Verticality."
"What do you mean?"
"The modern world lacks the quality of verticality. It is quite unbearable."
His fellow patron, briefly taken aback by the trite, yet cryptic, response, paused to contemplate what was said. He partly understood what verticality meant. Nevertheless, he found the sentiment somewhat repugnant.
"I don't think an egalitarian society is unbearable at all," he replied. "It is the best possible alternative to tyranny and repression."
"Oh, you are confusing the two. The modern world does indeed lack the quality of verticality. That does not mean it is necessarily egalitarian."
Upon hearing a repeat utterance of that contention, he realized that he left it unchallenged, tacitly accepting it as if it was fact. But, he thought, it was not fact. Verticality? Was not the modern world nothing but a story about class and class struggle, of the haves and the have-nots?
"I don't agree with that contention. The modern world does not lack the quality of verticality. Without verticality, there is no modern world," he said, attempting a bold flourish despite unsure of what verticality meant.
"How so?"
"Well, the world is full of inequality. The gap between rich and poor is increasing every year. Millions are on the verge of starvation, while others live beyond excess. The hierarchies are still present, but they take on different forms."
"So you are saying that hierarchy is equivalent to verticality?"
"Well," he paused to rethink his approach, aware that he was now trapped in the vice of Socratic inquiry, "hierarchy is a structure of status decided on the basis of wealth, therefore on the basis of power. Verticality..." It was clear that he was at a lost what the word meant or entailed.
"What do you really mean by verticality?" he asked, finally giving up trying to fake it. The answer he received was decisive - a finger pointed skyward.
