Your Sob Story Is No Good Here, Lady

Boo hoo, lady.

Last week, I wrote about the first of two odd women who came into the restaurant. This is part two:

Within a few minutes of Crazy Mashed Potato Lady weeble-wobbling her way back to the bar next door to cram more starch into her eating hole, Crazy Lady #2 makes her appearance. I am leaning against the bar taking down notes when she approaches me.

“Excuse me, but are you the owner?” she asks me meekly.

Looking down at my stained apron and worn out Shoes For Crews, I let her know that I am not the owner, but a waiter.

“Oh, can I speak with the owner?” she asks. “It’s very very important.”

She seems nice and pleasant and quite normal and I assume she is applying for a job. Rather than just tell her that we aren’t hiring, I point in the direction of the owner who also happens to be the chef. He is standing behind the line trying to look busy even though the only thing that has passed through the restaurant other than Crazy Mashed Potato Lady is a tumble weed that blew through about an hour before. She takes little baby steps up to the owner and asks to speak to him in private.

“Awww, this bitch wants a job but she doesn’t have any experience so she’s gonna try to sweet talk her way into a server position,” I think.

The two of them go to Table 2 at the front if the restaurant and sit down. Coincidentally, I suddenly realize that the candles at Table 3 need to be refilled. I inch my way over so I can do some sidework/eavesdrop.

“Hello, how are you?” the woman says.

“I’m fine,” replies the owner. I can hear in his voice that his subtext is something like, “just hurry up and ask for a job because I’ve got potatoes to peel.”

“I’m so sorry to bother you on this cold night,” she continues. “Isn’t it cold?”

The owner stares at her waiting for her to get to the point. I am beginning to think she couldn’t find the point of a pencil even if someone poked her in the eye with it and gave her lead poisoning.

“Anyway,” she says, “I was wondering if you could do me a favor. I hate to ask you this, but it’s very important.”

I am beginning to think she is going to ask for a donation for a raffle prize at the local elementary school or something like that. Meanwhile, I have refilled the candles and turn my attention to the salt and pepper shakers.

“You see,” she continues, “I was hoping you could cash a check for me.”

The owner sighs heavily and his eye roll is almost strong enough to extinguish the candles I just lit. “I can’t do that,” he tells her.

“Let me explain. You see, I have a check from my job but the bank is closed and I really need the money. Times have been hard for me and I am at a loss of what to do. I can leave you my benefits card as collateral since I don’t have an ID. The only reason I don’t have an ID is because I recently lost it but I also have outstanding parking tickets so I can’t go to the DMV to get another license. You can see the predicament I’m in, can’t you? It would just mean so much to me if you could cash this check for me so I can go to the grocery store and buy some food.” She laughs nervously as if that will convince this total stranger to give her money that everyone knows he will never see again.

The owner stands up with finality assuring her that she will have to go find someone else to cash her check for her. “I’m really sorry, but I can’t help you,” he says as he backs away from the woman.

“Are you sure?” she pleads. “Did I tell you I can leave my benefits card as collateral?”

“Yeah, I’m really sorry. Have a good night.”

As he walks back to the line, the woman smiles at me. I smile back but then walk away because I know she’s about to ask me if I can spot her some money. The empty restaurant must dissuade her from asking though because she quietly slips out the door. I know that the next stop on her check cashing patrol will be the bar next door. No one there is going to cash her check either, but I do feel like if only she had a to-go container of mashed potatoes to use as collateral rather than a benefits card, she might have a chance with at least one person there.

I continue to write down details of my evening waiting until the shift ends so I can go home and blog about the slow night at work when two crazy bitches came in.

Discussion

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