Cherie Amour, lovely as a summer day.
I was accustomed to hearing the song customers seemed compelled to sing after hearing my name, but lingering too long at a table meant lost tips elsewhere. I tapped my tip tray on the table. Gabe slowly slid three dollars on it. “Wow, thanks.” I smiled.
With his usual expression, he said, “I’d do just about anything for a piece of ass.”
Al laughed as though his partner was George Carlin. A curious triumph coarsened Gabe’s face. “You uncouth jerk.” I shot Gabe a censorious gaze.
The young one leaned back in his chair and in most derisive tone, retorted, “Well, aren’t we the sanctimonious one?”
How dare he make a lascivious remark and then speak condescendingly to me. I lifted my chin, stormed away, and told Kat I wasn’t waiting on the heathens again, despite their generous tips. She dashed to their table and began saying something, which didn’t look like the reprimand I’d hoped, seeing as how her face was framed in sunshine the entire time. Eventually she twisted her butt back to the waitress area. “They both apologized and promise to behave. Gabe even grinned and said something about you being the most
prolix
person he’s ever met. What the heck does prolix mean, cutie?”
“It means excessively wordy. But I’d rather be talkative than be a laconic jerk like him.”
“Don’t know what laconic means either, but lighten up and stop being such a square. Gabe’s a decent enough guy, he just likes trying to get a rise out of people.”
It was impossible to avoid Gabe and Al’s table on busy nights, but I took their orders and delivered in speedy fashion. Gabe seemed to delight in getting my reaction to his flat-out vulgarities or phrases filled with
double entendre
. I frowned, but kept my cool and their tips.On an extremely slow evening as the old one sucked suds, my innate need to chatter kicked in as I turned to the young one. “So, what does ‘trim men’ mean?”
Looking as though talking to me a dreadful chore, Gabe curtly said, “We’re custom carpenters who specialize in spiral staircases.”
“I read Walt Whitman’s father was a carpenter,” I continued in spite of his terse tone.
My comment was apparently amusing to Gabe who shot a look across the table to Al, indicating my IQ less than Lucy and Ethel’s combined, chuckled, threw his head back, swallowed a long drink of Budweiser, then turned his eyes to me. “Yeaaah,” he mocked, “we’re just a couple of worthless, ole carpenters.”
I didn’t consider my remark rude, and didn’t like the way he elongated yeah in arrogant tone. “I never realized using the words carpenter and Whitman in the same sentence could offend anyone.” I scanned the room. “But then, I failed to consider subliterate barflies.”
The words barely fluttered from my mouth before I realized I had committed a major topless club
faux pas
. Never insult those attached to the hands that toss out the tips that are the paycheck. I attempted a save. “I’m sorry if I offended. I must’ve taken a tiny vacation and left my bitch personality in charge. I’ve been trying to enroll her in a Dale Carnegie course.”
“That’s okay.” Al unleashed a goofy ass grin as he cut his eyes toward Gabe. “Here Cherie, take our last three dollars for your tip. We’ll go without dinner.”
“Thank you so much Al, at least I won’t go without pastie glue. You are the God of generosity, no matter what Greek legends say,” I said sweetly, walking away.
Although Gabe remained reserved, occasionally after a few beers he would casually blurt, “You know I’d do anything for a piece of ass, don’t you?” I learned to ignore his comments and simply move onto the next table, but one night he became difficult, holding my tip tray while slowly singing, “Myyyyyy Cheeeeeeeeerie Amour.”
The guy was starting to crawl up my nerves. “Gabe, please just give me my tray so I can work.” I looked around at lost
I was accustomed to hearing the song customers seemed compelled to sing after hearing my name, but lingering too long at a table meant lost tips elsewhere. I tapped my tip tray on the table. Gabe slowly slid three dollars on it. “Wow, thanks.” I smiled.
With his usual expression, he said, “I’d do just about anything for a piece of ass.”
Al laughed as though his partner was George Carlin. A curious triumph coarsened Gabe’s face. “You uncouth jerk.” I shot Gabe a censorious gaze.
The young one leaned back in his chair and in most derisive tone, retorted, “Well, aren’t we the sanctimonious one?”
How dare he make a lascivious remark and then speak condescendingly to me. I lifted my chin, stormed away, and told Kat I wasn’t waiting on the heathens again, despite their generous tips. She dashed to their table and began saying something, which didn’t look like the reprimand I’d hoped, seeing as how her face was framed in sunshine the entire time. Eventually she twisted her butt back to the waitress area. “They both apologized and promise to behave. Gabe even grinned and said something about you being the most
prolix
person he’s ever met. What the heck does prolix mean, cutie?”
“It means excessively wordy. But I’d rather be talkative than be a laconic jerk like him.”
“Don’t know what laconic means either, but lighten up and stop being such a square. Gabe’s a decent enough guy, he just likes trying to get a rise out of people.”
It was impossible to avoid Gabe and Al’s table on busy nights, but I took their orders and delivered in speedy fashion. Gabe seemed to delight in getting my reaction to his flat-out vulgarities or phrases filled with
double entendre
. I frowned, but kept my cool and their tips.On an extremely slow evening as the old one sucked suds, my innate need to chatter kicked in as I turned to the young one. “So, what does ‘trim men’ mean?”
Looking as though talking to me a dreadful chore, Gabe curtly said, “We’re custom carpenters who specialize in spiral staircases.”
“I read Walt Whitman’s father was a carpenter,” I continued in spite of his terse tone.
My comment was apparently amusing to Gabe who shot a look across the table to Al, indicating my IQ less than Lucy and Ethel’s combined, chuckled, threw his head back, swallowed a long drink of Budweiser, then turned his eyes to me. “Yeaaah,” he mocked, “we’re just a couple of worthless, ole carpenters.”
I didn’t consider my remark rude, and didn’t like the way he elongated yeah in arrogant tone. “I never realized using the words carpenter and Whitman in the same sentence could offend anyone.” I scanned the room. “But then, I failed to consider subliterate barflies.”
The words barely fluttered from my mouth before I realized I had committed a major topless club
faux pas
. Never insult those attached to the hands that toss out the tips that are the paycheck. I attempted a save. “I’m sorry if I offended. I must’ve taken a tiny vacation and left my bitch personality in charge. I’ve been trying to enroll her in a Dale Carnegie course.”
“That’s okay.” Al unleashed a goofy ass grin as he cut his eyes toward Gabe. “Here Cherie, take our last three dollars for your tip. We’ll go without dinner.”
“Thank you so much Al, at least I won’t go without pastie glue. You are the God of generosity, no matter what Greek legends say,” I said sweetly, walking away.
Although Gabe remained reserved, occasionally after a few beers he would casually blurt, “You know I’d do anything for a piece of ass, don’t you?” I learned to ignore his comments and simply move onto the next table, but one night he became difficult, holding my tip tray while slowly singing, “Myyyyyy Cheeeeeeeeerie Amour.”
The guy was starting to crawl up my nerves. “Gabe, please just give me my tray so I can work.” I looked around at lost
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