There were three men around the table, and one of them had a disquieting number above his head. "2".
    "Bonus points for tying your shoes, Ramwan!" the diner said, pushing his coffee onto the floor, creating a puddle beside his table.
    "Ramwan, can you count to three? Apparently God doesn't think you can, you single-digit dopewad," said the second man as Ramwan cleaned the table.
    "I scored at least," said Ramwan, who knew there were 1's and 0's all over the place. "My score doesn't reflect my sensitivity!"
    "Is this a recording? Are you really able to talk?" The violent man had a score of 32, himself. Quite high. He was one of the class of people who ruled the world: their intelligence was apparent to all. Usually, without any requirements, those above 30 earned important, high-paying jobs. They were mostly all assholes, too. "I'll take my check, waiter. And if you're lucky, I'll give you a 30% tip. It is definitely," he cocked his head back, "within my means!" He sounded much like a crow.
    A man entered with a small group of women in front. The group was unremarkable, except the group of women all had the exact same score: 22. The man behind them displayed something that the diners nor Ramwan had ever seen. A score of 100.
    "A table for eight, please," one of the women said. They were all very slim, wearing white turbans and unflattering robes. The man also wore all-white.
    "Ramwam," the man said, being guided to a chair by one of his hostesses. "I see your number is only 2." The diners were shocked the man had singled out Ramwam. They all stopped eating, because it was nearly impossible to quit staring at the gorgeous three-digit intelligence rating.
    "Ramwam, go!" said one of the waiters.
    Ramwam stepped up in his awkward bussing apron, hiding his knees but not his shabbily-tied shoes. "Sir?"
    "Do you see I am very intelligent?" the man asked.
    "Yes, I can see that quite clearly."
    "And I can see that you are not."
    Red-faced, Ramwam nodded. He turned his head down in a great frown.
    The man's hand came out to touch Ramwam's face. "It's a typo, Ramwam." The man reached in the air above the kid's head, and stroked the number two softly.
    "A... typo?"
    The number '2' suddenly had a partner.
    "22," said the man in white. "Join me."