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"What is this hideous beast in my water?" asked Jimmy. "Sir,
that is a tadpole, just as in the name of this fine eatery," the waiter responded. "It is our distinguishing
feature." "It's disgusting, and certainly unhygenic to boot, I demand a glass of water free of amphibians."
"Sir, I cannot give you a glass of water without a tadpole in it, as I said, it is our distinguishing feature.
We could no longer call the restauratn Tadpoles if we served water with no tadpole in it." "You must
be kidding," said Jimmy angrily. "I demand a glass of water without a tadpole in it." "Sir,
please," the waiter said, his eyes darting around nervously, "if I give you water with no tadpole, than
everyone will want the same, and we will have to change our name. If we must go that route, we will no longer have
a distinguishing feature, and our business will decline markedly, perhaps even drying up entirely." Jimmy
pointed out that there were no other restaurants in the area, to which the waiter responded that people come from
all over the state, and some even from neighboring states just to experience the innovation of the tadpole in the
glass of water. Jimmy found this all very strange, and wanted to leave, when the waiter decided to quietly bring
him a water with no tadpole.
A few minutes passed in which Jimmy noticed the waiter whispering some things to other employees, and pointing
in his direction. Finally he brought the tadpole-less water, trying to hide it as best he could. "Do people
actually eat the tadpole," asked Jimmy still worked up and irritated by the whole thing. "No, no sir,
of course not. They sip down to the last few drops, and the tadpole is left squirming, but otherwise unhurt. Please
sir, do me the favor of hiding your glass." "I will do no such thing. I am a paying customer, and I will
not have my free expression curtailed!" Almost the moment that last word fell from Jimmy's mouth, a woman
at a nearby table remarked rather loudly, "Hey, that man has water without a tadpole in it. I want some water
without a tadpole as well." A man at another table echoed the woman's sentiment, and suddenly the entire restaurant
was up in arms demanding water without a tadpole. The din of the customers rose to the point of being unbearable.
The waiter looked around helplessly, then looked sadly and frustratedly at Jimmy, who couldn't look him in the
eyes. Poor man, he threw up his arms and ran to the back. Jimmy looked around a few times, then stood up and headed
for the doors in a rather crouched-over position.
A few months passed before Jimmy was in that neighborhood again. Out of curiosity, he drove past Tadpole's to find
it's doors boarded up, and weeds growing everywhere. A man he recognized as his waiter from that fateful night
was sitting on the steps, holding his bearded face in his hands, his attire appearing ragged, his eyes darting
around forlornly. He couldn't believe that the man's prophecy had come true, that indeed the place no longer had
any business. Why would this happen if the customers came from all over knowing they were going to be given water
with a tadpole in it? Jimmy would have liked to go speak to the man whose livelihood he destroyed, but he couldn't
get up the courage to do so. Indeed, he spent many sleepless nights thinking about that poor waiter, about the
owners, and customers, and about the tadpoles in the water. He thought about his part in bringing all of that down.
But there wasn't much the agitator of the Tadpole Revolution could do.
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