The door shuts behind him, and Daniel shakes the hair out of his eyes.
"Windy day, huh?" a young woman remarks. "Holy shh… eepdogs!" She stares at him, eyes wide with surprise. "Look who's back: the Feast On Me Guy."
"Huh?" He blinks, certain that he's never seen this pretty, short-haired, coppery-eyed brunette before. "I, I'm sorry, I don't think we've ever met."
"We have, about two months ago. You came in with Fred, introduced yourself as Muh Jell-O, told the entire diner to 'feast on you', and then paid with a credit card that said 'Daniel Jackson'. Daniel Muh Jell-O Jackson?"
"Oh god," he sighs, suddenly recalling his credit card balance. And the surreal haze he saw the infirmary through while in the old man's body. And Hammond's incident report. "I don't remember ever setting foot in this place, to be honest."
"You don't remember ordering a hockey puck with frog sticks and a froth job for dessert?"
"Uh, no." However, he distinctly remembers the diarrhea he got after Ma'chello stole his body. "Look, I only dropped by to grab The Indy."
"You sure? How about a cup o' mud?" She flashes a sassy grin. "On me."
Normally, Daniel won't refuse free coffee. But he'd promised himself to avoid this diner. Forever. And inwardly kicks himself for forgetting the name of the place from the incident report. "Sorry, no thanks." He picks up a free community newspaper from the rack just inside the door and musters an awkward smile. "There's a Book Fair this weekend." He backs out the door, which rings the little metal bell above it.
"Okay," she calls after him, "but anyone who leaves a hundred dollar tip gets coffee. On me."
Daniel cringes at the memory of his charge bill, even though the SGC is in the process of reimbursing him. He wonders if the old guy's "holiday" was worth the taxpayers' expense, and if the man who'd shared the meal with Ma'chello had enjoyed the burger, fries, and hot fudge sundae, too.
He leans his head back inside the diner lobby. "If you see Fred," he calls out to the waitress, "give him my coffee."