It is nearly sunny over Puget sound by eight a.m.
My feet pound pavement. Walking to work.
A simple luxury of the highest order.
A man hugs three people outside the osteria,
one at a time,
ring around the roses style.
Lighting a cigar, he and his bulldog walk away and across the street to
my side of the road.
They precede me by about six feet as we walk.
I inhale deeply the spirals of smoke that follow him.
I feel less sheepish about the plumes of vapor I emit.
He stops to let me pass.
“Don’t want you breathing my fumes.”
“I was enjoying it.”
I was enjoying it, too.
“Showbiz Kids” comes through my cans.
Steely Dan’s Countdown to Ecstasy.
Five minutes later, I arrive at the cozy, little bistro located on Main Street. Two blocks from the water. I see the beach town’s Monday morning is already in full swing. Live and bumping with mostly silverhairs, at this hour.
The exception being a thirty-something couple that I wager is still out from last night.
They drink a lot of water.
(No one likes ice in their water here.)
I hum my hellos to the front of house crew.
I get mumbles back. It is early.
I announce my hellos to the back of house who are singing a song in Spanish that I have never heard. They wave enthusiastically. They have been here three hours longer than front of house.
Their coffee already kicked in.
⊙
11:05 a.m.
and, the sun finally asserts itself, breaking free from behind clouds.
This thrills and disappoints.
I am already sweating. The A/C unit has not worked since I started.
I am used to the heat from my former life.
I hear garbled voices rise:
“[Something, something, something] Moroccan immigrants!”
Followed by:
“[Something, something, something] So what?! People look at you funny? Big deal.”
I doubt he knows what that feels like, but
what do I know?
As he leaves, I smile and offer the obligatory: “Thanks for coming in. Have a good day.”
He halts.
“No!” he says, then approaches me.
Stepping in close.
“I had a friend and when people told him to have a good day, he’d say, “Don’t you ever tell me what to do.” “
I laugh and I mean it.
“Well, in that case, I sure hope you have an awful day,” I say with nonchalance.
He looks confused then smiles.
“This one, huh?” he says to no-one, indicating me with a finger.
“Didn’t you learn pointing at people is impolite?”
WrittenCasey 