tootsie rolls, eye patches, and red lobster

i finally buckled. i had to get a job last week. sigh. it was either that or take my laptop and cozy up with the hobos living under the I-405 interchange. i decided to apply as a server rather than a cook for several reasons:


- better tips
- working in a kitchen while it's 96° outside is not appealing
- english is my primary language

i spent the first two days being read to - line by line - from various dry corporate manuals regarding everything from grooming specifications to their sexual harassment policies. sex in the walk-in freezer? it's frowned upon.

finally, by day three i was allowed to actually approach a table.

"Hi. My name is Matthew and I'll be your server. Here's our fresh fish menu and our sexual harassment policies. Just let me know if you have any questions."

seated before me was an elderly couple. well, ancient would probably be the more appropriate term. i was fascinated with the old man hunched over in the booth. he was wearing a black eye-patch; which is always a bit jarring when you actually come face to face with one. your mind is immediately drawn to the image of some sort of accident involving a metal hook. the most curious part of his ensemble? he was sporting a pair of eyeglasses over the patch. i may have casually mentioned the purchase of a monocle in the future and he nodded several times; but that could have just been the parkinson's.

he stared blankly at the table while his wife ordered for them both. as i swiped their menus off the table he extended a wobbly fist in my direction and held it suspended in mid-air. i looked to the wife for some help; what does wobbly fist mean? he shook it several times, impatient with me. then it occurred to me he was holding something and desperately wanted me to take it. with fingers resembling the crypt keeper's; they slowly unhinged and deposited a tootsie roll in my hand. i was praying this wouldn't be the extent of my tip.

it was.