cloth napkin.

searching through the murkiness that is the 'drafts' section of my email, i came across this little gem... two short stories about my summer job at the new york deli, further proof that with sunshine and irresponsibility inevitably comes creativity, even in the form of goat cheese salads.
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daily trials of a carytown restaurant worker:



i didn't seat him, but i watched. fairly good-looking, fit.

lunch alone, without a book?

he smiled, confirming it.

not gay.

five minutes later, as i re-filled a family of water glasses, another man joined him. i observed their smart flat-front khaki's, each in a tucked-in button down. they sat together, leaning forward, joking.

dammit.

gay.

i began wiping down a table behind them and overheard the conversation: "i mean, mayonnaise is one thing, but you have to put the mustard and ketchup on the bread. putting it directly on the meat is a sin- it ruins the meat. condiments go on bread."

i laughed at the serious, protective tone in which they discussed ground beef.

not gay.

i overheard their order- one, a spinach salad with goat cheese, dressing on the side. the other, the cold plate with extra hummus.

yep.

gay.

i approached their table with their homosexual lunch choices. "salad with goat cheese?" i asked. the cute one smiled. "good choice." i lied. i gave the other his two ironically a-cup hummus mounds and asked if they needed anything else. "what, mine's not a good choice?" the other asked in an attempt to be clever. "no, you just didn't seem like you needed any positive reinforcement regarding your lunch." "oh, you're saying i'm fat." "i'm saying you're confident. enjoy the hummus."

and i could tell by the way goat cheese salad's eyes followed me...

not gay.

what's even better, he's the quieter of the two, and wouldn't leave lunch smelling of bean paste and garlic.

is it inappropriate to leave your number



.....on a cloth napkin?



....................................................

he was sitting at the end of the bar, a lunch-break beer with a friend. instantly i recalled 6 days earlier, a thursday night event, him leaning drunkenly out of his chair, begging me to stay.

the witty charm of this 20-something had been drowned by dark liquor and his glassy eyes leaked desperation. it was entertaining, if nothing else. i slipped him my business card- a simple 2x3.5" with my name, contact information, and a clever acid yellow stitched line across the middle.

i could tell by the way he talked, the designer jeans, loud printed shirt that he had recovered his clever, non-inebriated self along with his dignity, so once i conjured up the perfect line, i slipped behind the bar and stood in front of the two.

"oh my god..." he said, feigning an entertaining shocked expression.

"this may be deja vu, but didn't i leave you in that same seat thursday night?"

"no sweetheart, it was the back booth after you tried to makeout with me."

laughing sarcastically, "that must have been some other black-dressed brunette." redirecting my attention, i extended my hand to his friend. "hi, i'm liz."

noticing, he attempted to win it back. "weren't you coming over here to say 'michael, i've been thinking about you ever since thursday. tell me when i can take you to dinner.'"

relieved he divulged his name- something i unashamedly had forgotten. i smiled slyly, "well michael, if i recall, you have my card. if dinner is what you're interested in, i trust you'll contact me."

"when are you free?"

"next week."

"ok, i'll give you my number."

"you have mine- i'll hear from you."

i walked away, wondering where this confidence came from, considering i had been drinking with friends until 5am and still hadn't showered.

i avoided that end of the bar until the two left, not wanting to inevitably taint the image i left in his head.