. . .Tim, a somewhat husky; mid-40-ish-appearing; dark-haired; olive-skinned; mixed-race American waiter, was a bit of a joker – an odd joker – at a very popular Italian restaurant in east Charlotte (NC, USA). He would often share his strangely amusing, twisted, self-disparaging riddles and conundrums with us. After bringing the drinks to our table, he decided to lay a new one on us (Monique, my wife, aka Agent 32, and I, Agent 33) on this chilly mid-December (2017) Thursday evening. “Why does the restaurant owner stay in the kitchen?” Tim asked us without any discernible emotion. I looked over the front counter at the massive pizza oven and saw the short, bald, rotund, unmistakably-from-Italy co-owner. “I have no worldly idea, Tim,” I replied. “Are you sure?” he probed.. . . Read More