This is an open memo to my waiter, Tommy.
We had a good things going. I show up a couple times a week and find an empty booth. You try to treat me like a regular and bring me whatever I ordered to drink last week and then I am difficult and request something else. Not because I want to be difficult, but because my mood changes and sometimes I want a diet coke with lime and sometimes I want a Newcastle. Besides, I love that you are trying, because I love being a regular. In fact, there are bars where I got a “usual” because that was what the bartender thought I wanted and I liked being a regular more than I wanted a different beer.
I digress.
So I come in on nights when I didn’t have to stay at the shop to late. For something like six or seven times in a row, you were my waiter and I was your silent, polite, good tipping regular. I found it difficult to chat with you, not because I didn’t want to, but because I am what is known to be “shy” in certain settings. Talking with a cute waiter about things off the menu is one of those settings. Other settings include house parties, international flights, and networking socials at large conferences.
I did manage to tell you that I am writing a screenplay and that I manage a shop, even what shop it was. Then on Thursday night, after nearly a gallon of diet cokes with limes while I was doing pleasure reading instead of working on my screenplay, you ruined our mojo.
After agreeing that I am a horrible regular because I order differently and don’t talk, you offered that we should “gulp” have a beer and chat the next time I come in.
Now, I’ve only been in twice since this bold offer and maybe twice isn’t enough evidence, but you have not been my waiter since. Tonight you weren’t even working! Sunday night was my mistake–of course you were slammed, it was a HOLIDAY WEEKEND. Luckily, I ran into friends and was able to be social in the middle of all the Memorial Day Traffic.
Tonight, I debated, should I go or not. I’m not super hungry, but I’m off in time to beat the kitchen closing. Yeah, why not, I’ll go. And there you weren’t. So I ate quickly, tipped well, and left silently.
Now what? This probably means you’ll be there tomorrow night, but I can’t go two nights in a row. I simply can’t. I need to pretend to cook, right? Or go to the gym or go to a diner where I really can camp out and get some major writing done.
Tommy, all I’m saying is, where is our Daily mojo now?
Sincerely,
Silent Regular
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