…You just go a little crazy trying to get into your account. Because they are protecting me. Apparently from myself. And mind you, they did an excellent job.
Yesterday at the Diner
I ordered an omelet with home fries (fried potatoes, not really fries) and toast. They serve enough for two meals and pour enough coffee for me to enjoy the play while I am there.
A very heavy-set man at a table across and in front of me to the left, in his sixties or maybe 70s. He has ordered a cup of soup with something else and sits with it until a very good-looking waitress who happens to be the one waiting on me starts past. She is clearly in her twenties. He grabs her hand and she stops. He speaks with her but I cannot hear. She pulls her hand away to gesture with it. He grabs her other hand and she moves into the table, continues to speak with him while he holds her hand. They chat for some time and I can hear her describing her future plans. At last she says, “I don’t know. Sometime I’ll make up my mind.” She extradites herself from him, pulling her hand away and walking towards me. The wedding ring on her left hand sparkles in the sunlight.
She stops at the table behind him to see if they want anything more before continuing on her way. A short time later she walks past and he sees her, grabs her arm. She stops at his booth and again turns her body to face into the table. He continues to hold onto her, begins running his hand up and down her arm. They talk like that for some time as I finish what I’ll eat and push the plate from me. She pulls her arm away as she asks him if he’d like a carry-out box. He says no and returns to his meal.
She turns toward me again and then comes over to my booth. I say to her, “It looks as if he’s never heard of Harvey Weinstein.” “What?” She asks with a blank expression on her made-up face, eyes extravagantly black with false eyelashes and mascara. “I wonder if he’s heard of Harvey Weinstein,” I say. “I don’t know,” she says, her face still blank. I ask for a carry-out box.
She walks away from me towards him and he stops her yet again, pulls her into the table with his left hand and reaches into her apron pocket with his right. He tucks some bills into the pocket. “Oh, thank you!” She says jauntily as she pulls away. “I’ll see you again soon.” After she walks away he struggles to get up from the seat. He looks briefly at me as he turns so he can put both hands on the table and back of the seat for a boost and balance. I look at him thinking I shouldn’t do that but continue with my eyes on his face. He looks down as he continues to struggle, pushes himself up and away. He’s heavier than he had looked and it’s no small feat for him to walk toward the counter checkout. I don’t believe he saw me watching him. I don’t think he saw me at all.
I drink my coffee. Think I should make a note in the book I am reading so I will remember the event. I decide I don’t need to. Today I am finishing the meal she brought my carry-out box for. It’s more than enough for another meal.
As a P.S.#1., I doubt either one of them has heard of Harvey. I wonder if she’s heard of Nicole Simpson. She wouldn’t identify in any case, she’s dark complected and Nicole was a blond before OJ did her in.
As a P,S, #2., I’m going to start calling Tony’s Diner—Dinner Theatre. Or dinner and a play.