The author of this column must be my alter ego, because I prefer slinking around in life hoping to remain unnoticed.
Perhaps you are the same.
Maybe it’s because I’m a twin and never received undivided attention.
For example, I don’t like to make scenes in restaurants. So what if the salsa at a local eatery has one more fly than ordered? I’m sure it even happens at restaurants with tablecloths.
Rather than make a scene, I just slip the little critter under the table so management won’t feel bad.
I don’t like to put waitresses out either. Although, after downing the first of three jalapeno-filled enchiladas, I’ve sat through meals wishing for a refill on tea, I’m not about to bother my server with my trifling problems.
That would be selfish when she is working for minimum wage and tips — as she scurries over to the one other occupied table, in between answering calls from her father, bopping to Gretchen Wilson in her earbuds and evading pinches from the manager.
I know the calls were from her father because I overheard “sugar, daddy.”
And always — right after she drops the check onto a greasy spot on the table and hurries away before, with mouth burning, I can answer her “Do ya’ need anythin’ else, honey?” — I leave a big tip.
I don’t want her to think for a moment I’m insensitive about her stressful calling.
After all, anyone working in a diner to support their father’s sweet tooth has to have a heart of gold.
I’ll bet she even brings him leftover tarts.
Maybe I need assertiveness training, but I just don’t like to put people out.
To paraphrase Jimmy Buffet, I guess I’m just a guy trying to get by, being quiet and shy, in a world full of push and shove.
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