I Didn't Mean Hell in the Literal Sense

It was early and already things were getting weird. The hostess was pissed and I could see it in her eyes... we weren't getting anywhere any time soon. My esteemed colleague took his place at the bench. Waiting, patiently. Waiting for what would prove to be the question.
"Look, miss, I don't have a lot of time here. I am a very busy and important person. This man here is my attorney - I think he's from St. Paul - but that's not important! The situation here is I have a powerful lust for some sausage toast. I will require coffee... lots of it. And a knife to cut these limes. So you see... we're at a crossroads here. This situation could turn on a dime."
"I'm sorry ma'am, but the wait for a table is going to be 20-25 minutes."
"I see..." This disappoints me, because I should have called ahead. We should have had a plan! Fine... I looked around, my compatriots stood there, eyes glazed over watching the swooping and tumbling black birds. Yes, I will wait. With this buzzer thing. Time to be patient. Keep my cool. I thumbed through the days Target ad wishing I was on my way to the races. Or maybe I was.
People dashed around in pajamas, carrying trays and jostling patrons. It was going to be a very long morning.
I would need vodka... copious amounts. Perhaps a martini? I looked at my watch - 10:30 a.m. Jesus, God, that's early. Plenty late to start drinking, though.
Finally, a young man, resembling Kenny G brought us to a table and delivered the coffee to calm my jangling nerves. It had been a long night. I vaguely remembered a movie staring Carmen Electra and a chimpanzee.
"Can I get you anything else to drink?"
"I have a powerful lust for sausage bread! And I must have it! No other substitutions will do - and get me a bloody Mary while you're at it. Don't skimp on the booze, man, either. I'm a professional."
The wait continues. Long cavernous hallways fluttered with black gauze and an old man with a feather in his hat stacked skewers with olives and shrimp. A warm shrimp. Had the little bastard just crawled from the gulf of Mexico? Shit man, that can't be good. They were out to get me! Had they followed me here?.... Did they know?
My attorney fingered his mustache and let out a terrific belch.
I've heard of better service at a back-alley abortion clinic than with this miserable place. What was this? And where were we going?
I would try to eat something of substance before the serious drugs kicked in, but this would prove a difficult task. An hour after being seated, there was a danger of losing any sort of a good morning buzz and still... no food.
Eventually, the cold potatoes came and more food missing than was delivered - I knew they were out to get me. Had they been put up to this? I eyed my friend Ralph on the wall. I had indeed stumbled into Hell, but this level of purgatory is more torturous than a Lawrence Welk broadcast. And where the hell was my toast!? The lemon-ricotta cake thing was tasty, and sweet Mary Jesus was that carmel roll good but what good does that do me without my toast! The scene had turned sour. We would need to get out... no one looking. My attorney carefully explored the inner cavity of his nasal passages while I searched for exits. Best not to tempt them.... Just give them the money and go.
Was that man looking at me? How the hell did they get their food so fast? What was this conspiracy? I slipped the money on the table and backed away. Ralph was still watching... It was the kind of place where if you stayed there long enough, you had the feeling that you just might run into yourself.
Things were definitely getting too weird. And when shit gets weird, the weird go pro. It was time to hit the open road.