TAP-tap-tap, TAP-tap-tap, TAP-- TATatatatataTATatatatata TAP!
The unpleasant sounds of a metal spatula and blade of a kitchen knife drumming on a griddle were turned into rhythmical combinations as they echoed into the small corner diner. "The Best Around Waffle House" was a small establishment on the corner of Tim and 88th Street. They may not have had the most space or the best class, but they did have Parker as a chef, whose father had taught him to cook with five-star quality.
TAP-tap-tap, TAP-tap-tap, TAP-- TATatatatataTATatatatata TAP!
In fact, if he had been any less of a cook he would have been fired long ago, for his irritating habit of bringing his musical hobbies to work have caused more than a handful of complaints. Pamela Vick, his boss and the lady who lived in the apartment above the diner, was actually quite fond of the music, but she knew that if she let him get away with it all the time they'd eventually lose all of their business.
Tap, ta-tap, tap, ta-tap, tap, ta-tap, tap --
"Excuse... ex... EXCUSE ME!" Parker nearly lost grip of his makeshift drumsticks when the shrill voice of a hungry, impatient and clearly angry woman interrupted his groove. Parker spun from his place of filling a simple order of pancakes and scrambled eggs to see a middle-aged red-headed woman in the doorway of the swinging kitchen door striking a pose that clearly stated "that 'Employees Only' sign means nothing to me right now" and a glare that added "and neither do you". Asking the question seemed pointless, but it somehow seemed more rude not to inquire anyway.
"I'm sorry, can I help you?" He asked, fearing her lash. Being yelled at by someone didn't scare Parker, but his short-fuse reaction did. Ever since he was a child, his anger was something he couldn't control, and he really didn't want to get fired for yelling at this woman -- he actually liked this job. Luckily, however, she was just as invested in keeping this interaction civil.... after the initial yelling to get his attention, of course.
Taking a breath and dropping the glare, she cleared her throat and began. "I've had a really, really stressful work day, and I was just looking forward to eating in peace and--
"Of course, ma'am, I'm terribly sorry," Parker said with his signature crooked smile. Almost every person in the Mors family had reliable charisma and a silver tongue. "I'm a drummer in a band, and we have an important gig this weekend. I won't bore you with the details-- nor will I disturb your meal any further. Please, enjoy your meal."
A few hours later, Parker's eyes were excitedly set on Jill -- the name he gave his purple van which he could see out the back window as he was taking off his hairnet and apron. It was just a little passed five and The Harbingers band practice began at six on Thursdays. This barely gave him enough time to get home and get changed before heading to Revelation Studios. Surely Soren would need a ride, as well. Luckily, Parker's drums were still packed in Jill from Tuesday's practice. "G'night, Pam," Parker said over his shoulder as he hurried out the door, not even bothering to wait for a response. He was usually more polite than that, but the woman was pushing 60 and fading hearing required three to five sayings of "goodnight," each increasing in volume, and he simply did not have the time nor patience for that.
Even though he knew the band would understand if he were late, patience was one of Parker's worst attributes. This became more fact than opinion as he sped through another red light in front of his apartment building, giving the signal to Soren to buzz the door open (so Parker wouldn't have to dig out his key) and to get his self ready: three short honks and a long one in a slower (not to mention monotone) version of the beginning of Beethoven's fifth symphony from Jill's horn. Since the rhythm Beethoven used for that intro is also Morse code for the letter "V", Parker and Soren liked to joke and say it stood for "Vroom time." After the honks were made, Parker began step out of the van but paused a moment, then quickly whipped out his phone and began a text to Soren, who he just realized might not be home.
"Are you home? If so, just hurry down and bring me a shirt to change into. I actually have a pair of shorts in the van to practice in. If you're not home, where are you so I can pick you up?" As the message sent, he hoped his best friend would hurry back with his text - and also be home - because it was now 5:10.