The Chef's Special

(A new Korean place on Ninth Street, twelve-thirty, full of people from the offices upstairs.) Marisol: Okay. The lunch deal is fourteen dollars. Soup, rice, and one main. Hana: I'll have the chicken. Marisol: You always have the chicken. Hana: Chicken is safe. Marisol: We came here to try something new. That was the whole purpose. Hana: You said we came here because our usual place is too noisy. Marisol: Both things are true. Hana: Fine. What's on the list? Marisol: Beef with onions. Fish. And number seven, the chef's special. Hana: What's in the chef's special? Marisol: It doesn't say. That's the point of a special. Hana: I don't like paying for information I don't have. Marisol: You sound like a bank. Hana: We work at a bank, Marisol. Marisol: …Fine. I'm ordering it for both of us. Hana: You're a brave woman. (Ten minutes later. The waiter puts down two plates.) Hana: This is chicken. Marisol: That's the chef's special. Hana: The chef's special is chicken. Marisol: Okay. You were right the whole time. Hana: I'm always right. It's just usually boring.