"Last Tuesday Night (Bananas)" by Phil

Well, where do I begin? Her name was Helen, not actually but it’s the name I gave her. And me? I’m the man with the answers, the individual that is about to impart my world of incriminating knowledge upon your very being.

                About a fortnight or so ago, I found myself at the restaurant known as “Un Papion”; it’s French, don’t ask me what it means because I don’t know. As usual, I went there to get a drink and not to eat. Yes, it was one of those nights again. Not the cheapest place to snag a drink or two, but it had become a mere habit in my ever-busy daily routine. It was more or less of my escape at the end of the day. I never ate there because I prefer filling food to five-star cuisine. Besides, the night was far from over and I was in no mood for eating.

                People-watching had recently become a practiced hobby of mine; almost an unspoken addiction if you will. She was shockingly large in size considering her dainty eating habits, which I had observed for the past few weeks. Her end-of-day routine was more or less like mine, for we both sought refuge in the same place. Yet, that night was different from the others because this time, she brought someone with her. The second woman, who I have chosen not to give a name for reasons you will find out in a moment, was one of the most mysterious women I had ever seen. Her greasy jet-black hair fell only to the tip of her bony chin and gave her an almost ghostly appearance. She looked like a character straight out of A Nightmare Before Christmas, which gave me an eerie and uncomfortable feeling.  But I guess it was nice to have a new person to observe. Suspicious, as well as deeply intrigued at what the two were so avidly discussing, I casually passed by their table, pretending to be uninterested in their seemingly secretive discussion.

                It was particularly one statement that stopped me in my tracks and made me turn on my heels. “If I don’t get them the check for $13,612, it’ll be my neck,” Helen hurriedly said to the other woman as she pushed around her small portion of salad she had just ordered. Knowing that they would eventually realize my eavesdropping, I resided to a nearby empty table where I ordered a dish of Ahi Tuna in order to keep up my cover. I felt like an undercover government agent spying on wanted criminals. Little did I know I was not so far off point.

                I am not going to bore you with specific dialogue between the two, mainly because at that point I had no idea what their situation was, but I will tell you what I learned. Basically what I learned was that the gaunt woman was Helen’s trusted friend whom she was dealing some pretty heavy information on. Helen was in neck-deep in trouble. She had been taken to the hospital three times just the week before for potassium deprivation, and had accidentally gotten herself into the harsh black market for bananas in attempt to cure her illness. Desperate to be healthy once again, especially due to her weight issue, she had bought fifteen thousand bananas so that she would never run into her predicament again. Little did she know that a week later, she would be in debt for over $13,000 to the Black Market Banana Company, or the BMBC.

                I’m assuming her friend was very wealthy, for she wore lavish clothing and had bought a $140 bottle of wine for the two women to share. Helen obviously went to her friend for money, considering her almost fake friendly tone towards her friend before she dropped the bomb about her obscene debt. So there I was, sitting an eating my tuna even though I was not hungry, coming to the realization that Helen was both a wanted woman, and criminal. I knew I had to do something, I just didn’t know exactly what.

                Not even knowing what I was doing, I stood up and began walking towards the table. I was ready to alert authorities when all of a sudden; three gorillas dressed in old school gangster attire busted in and immediately approached Helen. The gorillas had clearly dressed to the occasion. They had everything from the stylish fedoras to the suede shoes to the black and white pin-striped suits with a banana patch sown over the breast pocket. Only now do I realize how truly silly they actually looked. But I guess it was no sillier than the idea of mobster gorillas.

“Ooooo oo ahhh…money…banana…where…now,” said the largest of the three gorillas as the other two grabbed Helen and shook her around. The gorillas made it obvious they weren’t leaving without their money. Almost as soon as Helen exclaimed, “I don’t have your money”, she was swept out of the restaurant, leaving her friend, myself, and the whole restaurant in utter awe.

                I never did see that Helen again, and her name never appeared in the newspaper (hence the pseudonym given by myself). I assume she never did pay back that debt and spent the rest of her life peeling bananas for her hungry gorilla bosses. So the moral of the story? If you mess with the gorilla, you get the banana peel. At least she won’t have to worry about her potassium levels depleting again.