She spent almost an hour with me and all I heard were, “He never…like my dad. He never… like my brother. He never…like my in-law.” All I could conclude was, “Why don’t you go marry your dad? Why don’t you go marry your brother? Why don’t you go marry your in-law?”
I met her at our restaurant where I worked as a waiter. My job entails essentially customer service. I didn’t think our food was the best in the world, but customers got it in service. I can relate several occasions when the food was burnt or salty, and our customers would eat with relish.
I particularly had a sweet smile and several of my patrons would engage me for endless minutes while I served. It is impolite to walk off on a client, you know, but then, it would cost time, and a waiter wants to make the best use of his time. I want to handle as many tables as possible because my reward is only on the tip.
She had come to the restaurant with—I later found out—her sister and the husband. It was a pleasant outing.
Later she came with three friends.
One evening, she came with her husband. He was distracted. He stood several times to take calls. I felt bad for her. Whatever plans they had for the evening didn’t seem to be working well. Before the dinner was over, he left.
“Would you want to order your dessert now, ma’am?” I smiled. After all, the more they spent, the better.
She looked into my eyes and I saw hers were eternally sad. “My husband’s gone.” She shrugged. “I would have loved some ice-cream, but I can’t take it alone.”
“I could fix a take-away pack for you.”
“What time do you close here? I really need to vent.”
I swallowed. Hell no. I’m not going to have you venting off me, lady. “It’s midnight today, ma’am. I’m sorry.”
“Oh, that’s fine. He won’t be back till maybe 3am.” She clicked her tongue. “I sleep alone every night. We’re about to have fun and,” she snapped her finger, “a call comes, and he’s gone.”
She’s not thinking of waiting to “vent” on me, definitely.
I shift from one foot to the other. She smiles at me. “I’ll have your double cream vanilla chocolate, with nuts. Thank you.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I hurry away.
I will close from work at midnight, and heaven knows I’m not going to sit around and listen to a frustrated woman. I’m sorry to say that. I have a wife at home who sleeps alone every night as well. I won’t be happy if she decides to stay up till I return, would I?
When I took the ice-cream to her, she smiled. It suddenly occurred to me, who would pay? I hoped he left his card, or she had her own money.
“He thinks spending on me is what I want, but he can’t even spend. I know from childhood how my father lavished us with money.” She chuckled. “Dad would take us to the store, and have us pick whatever we wanted.”
I’d been on my feet since 5pm, that was almost four hours ago, and this lady launches into an array of gist about her family. I so can’t walk away.
My manager strolls over and smiles. “Is everything okay, ma’am?”
She nodded. “Your staff here is making my evening very pleasant, after all.”
I cringe inward. Ah, Lord, lead me to the green pasture.
You know what it is like to stand on one spot for ten minutes? And then much more? This reminded me of boarding school and the mean seniors who’d punish you for the slightest offence? “Stand in that corner!”
“You remember when my sister and her husband came here?” I shook my head. She looked at my manager. “He won’t remember but I do because he served us so well.”
My manager smiled and walked off.
“My sister’s husband is every woman’s dream come true. So kind, so sensitive. My husband,” she snickered, “needs to learn from him.”
“What does your husband do, ma’am? For a living, I mean.”
She hissed. “He works in the emergency room. He’s not even a doctor like my brother.”
I call this #baboon – ingrate. She will never be satisfied. She is inconsiderate and thinks only of herself. She will push you to the wall, and if you fall victim, she will make you do the abominable.
Keep your cool, and develop a thick-skin. Try your best, of course. And pray for her. She needs it.
All the best in your love.
roses n chocolates: women's romance at its best 