Waiting for What

                It hadn't been a particularly busy night. Dave and Jason had made two dozen pizzas tops and had already finished breaking down their area. Jason scrubbed out the ovens while Dave wiped down all the equipment. Now they could relax over a few beers while the rest of the staff continued cleaning up.
         They took a seat in their regular booth, the same booth where they took their breaks. It was the one nearest the door to the kitchen. The tabletop had just been wiped down and smelled of Windex. Jason took a deep swig off his Heineken then took the rubber band out of his hair to release his ponytail. Dave rubbed his beer on his forehead to cool down.
         "So what do you think of that new waitress," said Dave glancing around to make sure he wasn't being overheard. "I think she's kind of hot."
         "She's alright, she's got a nice body. I'd give her a six...after a few drinks, maybe a six and a half," said Jason.
         "Well, I dig her."
                "You know her name?"
         "Yeah, its Donna," said Dave. He peeked over the top of the booth to make sure the coast was still clear.
         "Oh my God. Dude, I seriously hate the name ‘Donna'. It always reminds me of some bitchy, trailer skank. You know, the kind that hang out with older dudes and drink beer in mall parking lots."
         "Yo man, didn't you date a chick named Donna, like a while back?" asked Dave.
         "No...well...kind of, but that's got nothing to do with it," said Jason.
         "Yeah, and didn't she end up cheating on you with that weird, skinny, super-hairy dude?"
                "Yeah," said Jason. "He was like some freaky, undernourished, fuckin' Wookie...though slightly less articulate."
                "She was a bitch."
                "Hey, what's with Wookies anyway?"
                "What are you talking about?" said Dave.
                "Well, Wookies are like eight feet tall, right? I mean their feet make a Sasquatch's feet look a ballerina's."
                "So..."
                "You know what they say about big feet." Jason looked like he was on the brink of understanding the relationship of time to gravity. "Well, where's their --."
                "Dude, I'm pretty sure that Wookies are aliens. Who knows how they reproduce? And why do you waste your time thinking about this crap?"
                Jason looked discouraged. "I really thought I was onto something."
                "Anyway," said Dave, changing the subject. "I think Donna is kinda hot."
                Gary, the restaurant manager, walked by their booth with a clipboard under his arm and way too much gel in his hair. He stopped. "What are you guys doing tonight? Going to drink beer and stumble home like usual? You two are such losers."
                "We're not losers, Gary...we're pizza men," said Jason with mock pride.
                "Yeah, we're like feeding the world and shit. We're God damn humanitarians," said Dave.
                "Don't you two have any aspirations?" said Gary.
                "Of course." said Dave.
                "Like what?" Gary chuckled.
                "Well, one day, I hope to...err...sleep with your wife. Does that count?"
                "Asshole." Gary stomped off back to his office through the kitchen.
                "What a jerk," said Dave.
                "You know he's right in a way, but on the other hand, it's like, what's the point?" said Jason.
                "What are you on about now?" said Dave
                "Well, what are we doing here? You go through life, you suffer pointlessly, and then you rot in the ground forever. What the hell is that?" said Jason. He gulped down the rest of his beer.
                "Geez, dude, that's grim."
                "Yeah, it's tough having such a bleak view of the universe. It's a real burden to bear."
                "Oh yeah, you're like a real live tragic fuckin' hero," said Dave.
                "Damn right," said Jason, "I ought to go home right now and hang myself, but I don't. Everyday I come here and toss this dough around. And for what? I'm like a modern day Sisyphus."
                "You're so dramatic, dude. You're not an existentialist, you're just depressed."
                "Look, I'm not depressed, but this shit is sure as hell depressing. I'd like to be able to convince myself that there was some point to all this. It'd be great if I could fool myself into believing that there was a God who gave half a shit about me and my insignificant existence." Jason reached across the table and grabbed Dave's beer. He guzzled it down. "I mean those religious freaks are misguided and all, but at least they feel like they're part of something bigger, at least they're passionate about something."
                "Yeah, well what's wrong with believing in something if it makes you happy?" said Dave.
                "Dave, man, God is just a fool's last bastion against a cold and indifferent universe. It's all delusion, dude. There is no reason, no meaning."
                "Lighten up, you weirdo. You just need to get laid. That's all."
                "Whatever, dude," said Jason.
                "But seriously, Dave, grow up, man. We all make our own choices in life. You control your fate. Why don't you stop playing the victim and get up off your ass and get after it. Create your own meaning. Don't just sit here crying on your own damn shoulder waiting for Godot to show up. Stop bitching and do something."
                "I hear ya, man," said Jason, standing up, "you want another beer?"
                "Heck, yeah."
                And Jason went to the fridge to grab a couple more brewskies.