(Before starting, I have been determined to be a 'cool cat' and I answered a few questions which are posted today over at With a Little Moxie and you may want to pop by to visit. I'd never been considered 'cool' before so I was well pleased. Now ... on to today's blog ...)
It's summer. There are patios. Make space for us. Yep, we had our first patio lunch of the summer. Just last week, we'd have needed to have our parkas on and poor old Stella would have frozen after a few seconds of sitting on the table. But summer is, almost aggressively, here. We had some stuff to do a few blocks from here so went to do it, we stopped an got a few groceries - any sharp eye'd readers from the UK might notice the Tescos bag sitting beside Joe. We were the first to arrive and the tables were being set up when we pulled in. The waitress took our orders, apologised for her rush because she was too busy, and then hurried away.
I had a lovely cup of tea and Joe and Stella got reacquainted. I still love telling the story of us being in Liverpool and getting right squiffy and by the time we left the pub, which was about a half hour walk from the hotel, we caught a cab, I poured Joe in, and off we went home. When we got up in the morning, Joe was regretting his latest affair with Stella, and he said to me, "I'm glad we walked home last night, I think the fresh air helped." I said, "Um, dear, we took a cab." We still find that funny. And we found it funny again on the patio.
Once the place was set up the waitress came back and asked us where we were on holiday from, we would discover that that's her opening line with all the customers who come in that aren't regulars. We told her we lived a few blocks away. Then she noticed a man coming down the street, maybe in his early twenties, who was walking holding a plastic plate and a chop stick. He was slowly banging the plate with his chop stick as he walked along. He wandered from one side of the street to the others and asked the occasional passerby, politely, for money.
She stood there, and thinking she'd entertain us, began making fun of him. "He really does march to a different drummer, doesn't he." "We get all kinds of real weirdos in this neighbourhood.' I stopped her saying, 'Please don't make fun of him.' She, of course, it can be predicted, got angry. I explained, 'I'm just sitting here imagining what you'd be saying about me as I come down the street.'He seems, to me, like a nice gentle soul causing no harm or bother to anyone, can't he be left in peace.'
Well, that ended our 'relationship' with the waitress. Who served us brusquely, which was fine. I'd ordered something that was very easy to check to see if spit had been applied as a condiment - it hadn't. And Joe and I had a nice lunch. Joe's not one who likes my constant attempts at public education. But this time he said, 'Thanks for saying what I was thinking.'
Our bill came and on it was a note: What I did was wrong. I am sorry. Please don't think poorly of me.
I don't know why our opinion of her had become important to her but it obviously was something she was concerned about. There was no room left on the bill to write so Joe left a note on a napkin and slipped it inside with the money. "It takes someone with a good soul to apologise, we will be back."
And, we will.