May I take your order?

    Gerald sat at a table in the crowded restaurant. After several minutes of waiting, a waiter approached.
    “Sorry for the delay. May I take your order?”
    “No.” Said Gerald, looking fixedly at the waiter. “No, you can’t. You can’t take my order. Do you know what you can do? You can die. You can run into a crowded intersection, and get run over by a car. You can stagger to your feet, not severely injured but seriously shaken. Then the car that hit you can swerve and collide with a gasoline truck, creating a catastrophic explosion. You can catch fire, and run screaming down the street. And then you can stumble onto the land of a local farmer, who mistakes you for a monster and shoots you. Still on fire, you catch several bullets in the lower chest and collapse to the ground. The farmer can extinguish the flames and find you, burnt and unconscious. That farmer can think you are dead, and throw your corpse into the ocean. As you fall, you can wake up, and regain your senses just long enough to see the sharp, jagged rocks below you. Your bloodied cadaver can be eaten up by piranhas or sharks or some other sea creature that happens to be passing by. That’s what you can do!”
    Writing on his notepad, the waiter asked:
    “And to drink?”
    “Milk, please.” Said Gerald.
    “Alright, we’ll bring your order as soon as we can.” The waiter walked away.
    “Thanks.”