They sat outside. It was fifteen minutes to closing time. I went out with some menus. He was wearing oversize glasses and a white, wide-brimmed hat. Had he opened his mouth and revealed a blue-blood Southern accent, I would not have been surprised. He didn't. Who does he remind me of?
"Always gotta have somebody come in late and be a pain in your ass," he smiled.
Kurt Vonnegut. That's who he reminds me of. I waited in him in Chicago in 1997. It was awesome.
"You're fine," I smiled, and I was mostly telling the truth. I had plenty of sidework left to do, so why not make a few more dollars in the meantime, right? They ordered cocktails, and the women each had a snack. They were nice, and funny, and chatty, and it was a great way to end the night. They asked me where I was from (lots of people do when you refer to them as "y'all" up here), asked where I was living, recommended some restaurants. And then he told me a secret: There is a back route from my house to Burywater, where I work. This is huge, because the restaurant is on a very small highway in a very touristy area, just a stone's throw from Neb and Gerry's Ice Cream. I thanked him profusely for the tip, adding that should he feel a warm feeling tomorrow at around 4:45, it would be love I was sending him while not sitting in traffic. The traffic has been pretty crappy already, and due to the incessant rain, this tourist season has reportedly been light. So you can imagine what it will be like in the fall.
They hung out for awhile, and I learned that they are regular customers. That makes me happy.
Yesterday I decided it would be a great idea to take one of our area rugs outside and wash it. Turns out I was totally wrong, and now it shows no sign of drying any time soon, and it's probably going to smell worse than it already did. Ah well. Live and learn.
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