Attila the Hon

After years of pillaging, plundering, marauding, and massacring, Attila needed a break. Who wouldn’t? Compared to the heady days of barbarian hordes, there are very few modern analogs. Certain aspects of a rock band on tour conjures up similar images. But a lot of people don’t make it. Even Jerry Garcia couldn’t do it forever. Attila, on the other hand, had no manager, no craft service, and certainly no tour bus. 

Unfortunately, certain elements of his lifestyle were unshakable. He didn’t know how to live, except when it was on the road. The man wasn’t a home body. He only felt a sense of purpose when burning a rival tribe’s village to the ground. That can only go on for so long. It’s a young man’s game, as they say. 

One afternoon, somewhere between Rome and Constantinople, Attila stopped in a roadside diner for a quick bite. He’d never seen a menu in his life, having taken everything he ever wanted. Before the waitress could attend to him, he began unscrewing the bar stools and removing the sugar shaker from the counter. 

The kitchen bell was driving him crazy, as was the smell of overcooked bacon. He was about to leave when he saw a pack of matches. Just as he was preparing to light a stack of napkins and torch the greasy spoon, the waitress turned to him and said, “Hon? I’ll be right with you.”

With that moment, he blew out the flame and decided to read the menu. He’d been all over the world but rarely stopped to take in a sunset or read a historic plaque. There was no time for rest. He and his tribe were always on an extremely tight schedule. Every trip had a full itinerary and no room for relaxation. Sightseeing? No chance. The years wore on everyone, Attila most of all. He never figured a team bonding dinner or happy hour would’ve improved morale. To him, a meal was inhaled beside smoldering ruins. He hadn’t eaten a meal sitting down since childhood. The only reason he ate at all was because he had to, not because he wanted to.

When he was done and full, he left a very substantial tip. Not of money stolen property, severed limbs, and a few bags of Roman coins.