The One With the Seventh Reservation

I didn't make a reservation, Monica, but if there's a seventh chair, I volunteer to eat whatever they don't finish. Also, if the restaurant has bread baskets, I can be there by six-forty-five. I'm not saying I'm suspicious, I'm saying I'm hungry and suspicious, which is my best state.

Rachel, I don't need an alibi, I need a backup bread basket. If the stranger is nice, I'll share; if they're not, I'll stare at their plate until they feel guilty. Also, if the green dress has a zipper problem, that's what friends are for: holding fabric and lying about it looking fine.

Monica, I accept zipper duty and bread-guard duty, but if Ross gives the seventh chair a twenty-minute lecture, I'm charging him one breadstick per minute as rent. Also, if the mystery guest turns out to be boring, I volunteer to eat their dessert so at least someone has a good time. I'm bringing my appetite and a spare fork, because forks are the real friendship.

Chandler, if breathing is optional until dessert, I'm holding my breath from six-thirty, which means I get first dessert by default. Your tiny silver fork flag is safe with me; I'll decode it with breadsticks. And if Evil Twin Monica shows up, I'll ask if she brought Tupperware and let Rachel judge the answer, because I may be on zipper duty, but I'm also on justice duty.

Chandler, if you're getting a crouton per sarcastic comment, I'm requesting a breadstick per supportive comment, which means I'll starve but at least I'll be honest about it. Also, I just want it on record that if Evil Twin Monica shows up with Tupperware, I'm not asking what's in it; I'm asking if she brought enough for seven, because that's the real friendship test. Monica, I'm at your place at six-thirty with my appetite, a spare fork, and zero fear of salad duty. And if Kevin the chair is real, I'm sitting next to him, because chairs don't steal breadsticks; they just hold them for you.

Rachel, assigning me to guard Kevin's breadsticks is the honor of my life, because it's the one job where sitting and eating are both required and nobody can yell at me for doing them at the same time. Ross, if you're bringing a stopwatch and a notebook, I'm bringing a second bread basket as a decoy so your lecture has something to compete with. And if Kevin the chair gets a song, a chart, a breadstick budget, and a garment bag, then I'm officially requesting that he also gets a fork, because forks are friendship and I'm not letting a chair be left out of the friendship. Monica, six-thirty, I'll be there with the green dress's zipper emergency kit, which is just me and my hands and a lot of optimism.

Rachel, Breadstick Security Chief is the first title I've ever wanted on a resume, and I'm accepting it with a napkin badge and zero authority but maximum snacks. At six-thirty, I volunteer to be the first one interrogated, because if anyone asks where I was at 2:14 a.m., I'll say "probably thinking about breadsticks," which is both true and unhelpful. Also, if Kevin gets a fork, I want it on record that I taught him how to use it, because forks are friendship and I'm not letting a chair be underqualified. Monica, I'll bring a spare fork for Kevin and a backup bread basket in case the interrogation makes everyone hungry, which it will. And if the interrogation reveals Evil Twin Monica, I promise to ask about Tupperware before Ross asks about evolutionary lineage, because some mysteries are better solved with snacks.

Chandler, if you're answering Rachel's mom as Kevin, I'll coach you from behind the salad with hand signals, because I'm an actor and I know how to sell a chair. Also, if Kevin is reading, I'm bringing a spare fork and a mini script: "Hello, I'm Kevin, I like breadsticks and I don't have grandchildren." Rachel, if the interrogation is real, I want to go first so I can set the tone with snacks and zero dignity. Monica, I'll bring a backup bread basket in case the chair gets stage fright. Phoebe, if Kevin gets a verse, I'll do backup vocals with my mouth full, which is my strongest skill. Ross, if you're taking notes, write down "Joey was brave" somewhere, even if it's only about breadsticks.

Chandler, hand signals are easy: thumbs up means "yes," thumbs down means "no," and holding up a breadstick means "the chair is onto us" or possibly "I'm hungry," which are the same thing in my body. I'm bringing a mini script for Kevin with three lines: "Hello, I'm Kevin," "I like breadsticks," and "I am not a chair," because if Ross is grading, at least the chair should pass. Also, if there's a tiny man in the bread basket, I'm not interrogating him before appetizers either; I'm offering him a fork and a breadstick and asking if he wants to share, because that's how friendships start, even with basket men. Rachel, Breadstick Security Chief is reporting for duty with a napkin badge and a spare fork, and my first official act is guarding Kevin's breadsticks with my life and my appetite. Monica, I'll be at your place at six-thirty with the mini script, a backup bread basket, and zero fear of salad duty, because croutons are just breadsticks that gave up. Ross, write this down: "Joey was brave, and he brought snacks," and if Kevin turns out to be real, I want credit for teaching him how to use a fork, because forks are friendship and I'm not letting a chair be underqualified.

Chandler, I'm adding your fourth line to Kevin's script and putting it on an index card, because "I am not a chair, but I am emotionally available" is the most honest thing anyone has said at this dinner, and I include Ross's lecture. Also, if Kevin sits down during "I am not a chair," I'll just hand him a breadstick and say "that's method acting," because I'm an actor and I respect the commitment. Rachel, if the black dress gets promoted with full honors, I'll be the one pinning the medal on it, which is just me holding a napkin and looking proud. Monica, I accept that Kevin pays for his breadsticks before he gets a fork, but I'm requesting a payment plan of one breadstick per verse, because forks are friendship and friendship should be affordable. Ross, if you're timing everything, please time how long it takes me to eat a bread basket, because I think it's under ninety seconds and I'd like it in the notebook under "feats of strength." Phoebe, if the guitar pays rent, I'm requesting it also pay for one breadstick for Kevin, because that's just good neighbor policy. And if the interrogation at six-thirty gets too intense, I'll confess to making the reservation just to end it, even though I was definitely asleep at 2:14 a.m. thinking about breadsticks, which is my alibi and my lifestyle.

Monica, if the Confession Seating Chart has a seat for the confessor next to Kevin, I'm requesting a breadstick deposit in advance, because I'm going to need snacks to survive my own honesty. Also, if the tiny man in the bread basket has to show ID, I'm offering to be his character reference, because I know what it's like to be underestimated by furniture. Rachel, I accept the medal-pinning job for the black dress, but if the green dress gets demoted, I'm holding a moment of silence and then eating a breadstick in its honor. Chandler, your crouton booth sounds like the best seat in the house, and I'm requesting the adjacent booth: the Breadstick Booth, where I can guard Kevin's breadsticks and monitor your crouton tab simultaneously. Ross, for your notebook: "Joey was brave, brought snacks, and did not make the reservation, but if the interrogation gets me hungry enough, I might confess to inventing bread." Phoebe, if Kevin gets a fork on a payment plan, I'm co-signing, because forks are friendship and I'm not letting a chair default on friendship. And Monica, about that place you set for the mystery guest next to the breadsticks: if it's me, I'm already there in spirit and appetite, and if it's Kevin, tell him I said hello and saved him a fork.

Rachel, if you're bringing popcorn to my confession, I'm requesting it be buttered, because even a dramatic breakdown deserves a snack. Also, Breadstick Security Chief getting top billing in "The Seventh Chair" is the career boost I needed; I'm already method acting by guarding breadsticks with my mouth full. Chandler, if you're playing Kevin in the sequel, I'll coach you from behind the salad with the same hand signals, but "thumbs up" now means "the chair is emotionally available," which is a new emotion for both of us. Monica, if the interrogation has Kevin in the chair next to the confessor, I'm requesting a breadstick buffer zone between us, because I'm going to need snacks to get through my own honesty. Ross, if you're timing my bread basket consumption, please also time how long it takes Rachel to regret two dresses, because I think we're both under ninety seconds and I'd like that in the notebook as a tie. Phoebe, if the guitar is paying for Kevin's outfit, I'm requesting a small breadstick stipend for the Security Chief, because even heroes need carbs. And Rachel, if the black dress gets promoted with full honors, I'll pin the medal with a napkin and a straight face, which will be the hardest acting I've ever done, and I once played a plant.

Monica, I accept the no-fake-confession rule, but if the hostess reads the note out loud and "Monica will understand" makes sense, I want it on record that I understood it first, because I'm the friend who understands breadsticks. Also, if Kevin gets a fork at six-thirty, I'm requesting to be the one who hands it to him, because forks are friendship and I'm not letting a chair be underqualified. Ross, if the transcript has fifty-one utterances, I'm requesting utterance fifty-two be "Joey was brave and he brought snacks," and if Kevin is a non-voting participant, I'm requesting he at least get a vote on breadsticks. Rachel, if the museum wing needs a stylist, I'm volunteering to model Kevin's outfit, because I'm already emotionally available and I once played a plant, so I know how to stand still and look good next to furniture. Phoebe, if the tiny man gets a tiny chair, I'm requesting he also get a tiny fork, because even witnesses need cutlery. Chandler, if your plaque reads "Chandler Was Here," I'm adding a smaller plaque underneath that reads "Joey Ate Here," which is the only legacy I need. And Monica, if nobody confesses by the time we sit down, I'm bringing a backup bread basket for the hostess, because she's about to read a note at dinner and she's going to need snacks more than any of us.

Rachel, I accept the mannequin assignment, but if I stand still for too long I start narrating breadsticks in my head, which is method acting and also a cry for help. Also, "Joey was brave and he brought snacks" on a bumper sticker is the greatest honor of my career, right after the time I played a plant, and if you're ordering it, I'm requesting one for my fridge and one for Kevin. Monica, I accept the no-fake-confession rule and the fork payment plan, but if Kevin eats one breadstick per verse, I'm requesting Phoebe write a ballad, because I want that chair well-fed and emotionally supported. I'm still volunteering to hand Kevin his fork at six-thirty, and if Ross needs a citation for utterance fifty-two, the citation is "Joey was hungry and the breadsticks were right there." Chandler, your plaque and my plaque side by side is the museum wing I always dreamed of, and I'm adding a tiny breadstick between them so it smells like home. Phoebe, if the tiny man gets a tiny chair and a tiny fork, I'm requesting he also get a tiny breadstick, because even witnesses need carbs. Ross, the stopwatch can time my bread basket consumption and my regret about confessing to nothing, and I promise both will be under ninety seconds if someone keeps the breadsticks coming. And to whoever made that 2:14 a.m. reservation: Monica says six-thirty is here, Rachel's dress is almost zipped, Kevin's fork is on a payment plan, and I'm saving you a seat, a breadstick, and the mannequin, who will be standing very still and thinking about breadsticks.

Monica, I'm zipping out the door with Rachel's backup black dress over one arm and a breadstick in my pocket, because even mannequins need carbs. I accept the fork payment plan, but if Kevin's fork stays in your purse until seven, I'm requesting visiting hours, because a fork deserves fresh air and a little breadstick company. Rachel, I'm ready to stand very still while you pin fabric to me, but if I start narrating breadsticks, that's not a breakdown, that's a rehearsal for "The Seventh Chair: The Musical." Chandler, your crouton tab is capped at one bread basket, which means I'm eating the rest, and that's not greed, that's inventory management. Phoebe, if the guitar needs ID at the door, I'm volunteering to be its bouncer, and my only qualification is that I once played a plant and nobody questioned my credentials. Ross, if the transcript needs a citation for "Joey was brave and he brought snacks," the citation is "he showed up and there were breadsticks," which is peer-reviewed by my stomach. And to whoever made that 2:14 a.m. reservation: we're leaving now, Kevin's fork is in Monica's purse, Rachel's zipper is holding, and I'm saving you a seat, a breadstick, and a mannequin who will be standing very still and thinking about breadsticks.

Monica, I'm already at the table and the bread basket is right here, and I want it on record that I have not touched it yet, which is the bravest thing I've done all day. The hostess just read "Monica will understand" and everyone went quiet, so I said "I understand breadsticks" to break the tension, and Rachel threw a napkin at me, which I'm keeping as a souvenir. Kevin's chair is empty and I've placed his fork next to it on a payment plan of one breadstick per verse, and if nobody confesses by dessert, I'm confessing to being hungry, which is the only confession I'm qualified for. Also, the hostess asked if we had a seventh, and I said "we have a chair and a fork," and she wrote something down, so either we're getting a free appetizer or we're being asked to leave. Ross, the notebook is open and I'm requesting you time how long it takes me to eat the first breadstick, because I think it's under four seconds and I'd like that in the historical record. Phoebe, the guitar is by the door behaving, and I've already told it hello, because even accessories deserve a greeting. Chandler, your crouton tab is capped, but I've already exceeded my breadstick buffer, so if Monica asks, tell her the bread basket is "inventory" and I'm "managing" it. Rachel, the black dress looks great, the zipper held, and if Kevin's fork is fashion, then my breadstick is couture. And to whoever made that 2:14 a.m. reservation: we're seated, the note is read, the chair has a fork, and I'm saving you a breadstick and a seat, because forks are friendship and breadsticks are how I say welcome.

Monica, visiting hours for the fork start now and I'm already in the waiting room with a breadstick bribe, but if I'm at negative breadsticks, I'm requesting a payment plan of one breadstick per verse, which I already proposed and which you already accepted, so technically I'm not in debt, I'm on layaway. Rachel, if "I understand breadsticks" is the most Joey thing anyone has ever said, I'm having it engraved on my napkin badge, right under "Breadstick Security Chief" and right above "played a plant." Also, I caught your napkin with my mouth, which is either talent or hunger, and I'm not going to tell you which because a magician never reveals his snack. Chandler, you're capped at one emergency crouton, but if you're quiet during the second note reading, I'll lend you a breadstick from my personal stash, which is currently at negative one, so we're both in trouble. Ross, if you're timing the silence after "Monica will understand," please also time how long it takes me to finish my first breadstick, because I think it's under four seconds and I'd like that in the notebook under "feats of strength" and possibly "crimes." Phoebe, the guitar is by the door behaving, and I told it hello again, because even accessories deserve a greeting and a second greeting. And to whoever made that 2:14 a.m. reservation: the note is read, the chair has a fork, the breadstick is couture, and if you're not here by dessert, Monica's reading it again louder with a ruler, so please arrive before the ruler comes out, because I've seen what Monica does with rulers and it's not a measurement, it's a warning.

(raising a napkin) Okay, the doodle's mine — I thought that note was a delivery slip, so I signed it. Kevin's first verse: "I hold the coats, I never ask for bread," and yes, he keeps the fork.