Cookie's standing in front of me, with a young girl in a waitress' uniform. She's about five seven, long, dark brown hair, and deep brown eyes. Nose stud. "George, this is Tara, the new girl."
"Hi, Tara!"
"Hi!" She's friendly.
"Now, you have a bigger job than you knew, Tara. You have to make me forget Dawn."
Before Cookie engages with a comment, she says, "Done."
"Hmm...I like your get up and go-ness!"
Tara pulls out a pen, and whips out a pad. "And what'll you be having?"
As Cookie heads back up the counter, I say, "how 'bout a Happy Waitress?"
She smiles. Her smile's extraordinarily bright. "I'm one right now, you can see that, right?"
"Yes I can."
"Happy Waitress, coming right up."
Tara heads back up the counter. Her very long, dark brown hair's tied up in a pony tail. Her hair's rich, and is as carefree as a spring breeze. Wow.
"She's nice," the man on the end says. His name's Stuart. A local accountant. Alan Adler can't stomach him, he calls him a chozzer. What that is, in Jewish culture, is a guy who's personality and demeanor is as utterly repulsive as his personal appearance. It literally translates to pig, although even a pig wearing lipstick would be more palatable than Stuart. He's about 240 pounds, has a mane of unruly, brown hair, a three days growth of beard, and huge, dark rimmed eyeglasses, sort of the Larry 'Bud' Melman look. He's rude, he's crude, he's arrogant, he's overly self-centered.
"Yes, she is," I say.
"I wonder how she'd feel about some lap grinding."
I shift uncomfortably on the stool. "I'm sure she might not mind it, if the other person were human."
"Oh, you're a laugh riot, man. A laugh riot!"
Cookie comes back down. "Looks like you both hit it off in a minute, didn't you?"
"She's nice, and friendly."
"She is. She's the type who you think you've known for years after you meet her."
"You're kind of like that yourself, Siobhan."
Cookie sighs. "Am I?"
"Yes."
"That's a good thing." The door opens; a family comes in. Cookie goes to greet them.
"I know SHE can use a good lap grind!"
I shift uncomfortably again. "Didn't you get your mail order inflatable yet, Stuart?"
He glowers.
"You're better off going that route. You certainly aren't gonna get a lap grind from anyone breathing that you don't have to pay a fortune for."
This time, Stuart shifts uncomfortably. "A real stand-up comedian, that's what you are."
Tara comes back down the counter, with my Happy Waitress: an open faced grilled cheese and tomato, on rye, with steak fries. For whatever reason, this is known as a 'Happy Waitress' sandwich in New Jersey. Sometimes, it comes with bacon on it, as well. There's steam rising from the steak fries. "Can I help you with anything else?"
"Nah, I'm fine. Just keep smiling. I like it."
"That's easy. I can do that."
"Cool."
"You know what? I'm gonna call you 'Trouble'. Because you look like it."
"Nah." I do like her flirtatiousness. I hope she doesn't think I'm serious...
"Yes. 'Trouble'."
"Okay. Trouble."
She smiles at me, and heads back up the counter. I look at Stuart. "Uh-uh. Don't you dare. One more word, and I'm gonna introduce that pork chop on your plate to your GI through the other entrance."
Stuart plays with the corn kernels on his plate. There's a steady crowd coming in, now. I see Tara greeting and smiling, and doing things. It's always good seeing a new face here...
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