Goofy Notes

December 10, 2002

As I was walking home recently, I passed by the coffee shop I visit almost daily. It was still open, and I saw that my two favorite waitresses were working. I stayed until they closed and asked one of them to join me for a drink. She agreed and suggested a place she liked that served beers in Styrofoam cups. We found a rickety empty table in the back, away from the rowdy shitfaced regulars. We’d never hung out together before, and it was nice to have a chance to chat outside of the coffee shop.

After a while, she said she liked the way I listened to her and didn't brag about myself. And she was grateful that I never asked her what else she did. She complained that since she worked as a waitress, people always assumed she was a struggling actress or a model waiting for her big break. She told me about the guys who come in to see her at work and hit on her, and the others who silently gawk. Since she works behind a counter, the guys are hard to avoid. She dug through her bag and pulled out a goofy note that one of them had given her. It was chicken scratch on a napkin, and I couldn't decipher it, but I didn’t need to; I’d written one similar to the girl I met on the subway.

I held it for a moment before handing it back to her, wondering, silently, why she saved it, and wondering if the subway girl had saved hers. Looking at this one made me hope she hadn’t.

We didn’t stay out late; I had to be up early the following day to take a work call from Italy.