Tuesday, February 11, 2014
On The Same Page
One thing I always looked forward to was to go for a Sunday morning steak and egg breakfast at the local hotel, where I was known as 'the guy from the motorbike shop'. I'd spread my new Buy + Sell out in front of me and have a close study of the extensive motorcycle sections from the big city, looking for my next project. For some reason, whether it worked out alphabetically or what I don't know, the vintage motorcycle section was included in the last section, lumped in there with all the personal ads. The lonely, desperate, and depraved, relegated to the final pull out section. I'm not sure what type of people read the personals, but I always made an effort to quickly flip over to the real estate section when the waitress came around.
One particular day, there was the new gal on shift at the Longhorn Cafe. Outgoing and eager, and not having acquired the apathy for the job present in the other serving staff she appeared promptly at my table, surprising me in her waitress outfit with a sudden offer of coffee. She leaned over filling my cup, and of course just had to look down at what I was reading, probably hoping to make a little small town chit chat before taking my order back to the kitchen. Her attention was immediately taken by the colorful big city ads from escort agencies, massage parlours, and rows and rows of classified personal ads, and does a double take.
"Find anything interesting there??" she giggles, with a cheeky 'gotcha!' grin.
I figured she wanted to talk about old motorcycles, and began to fill her in on a recent purchase I had made of a wore out old heap.
"As a matter of fact, I have." I stated as she prepared to take my order.
She reacted like maybe that wasn't the answer she was expecting, but was all ears.
"This ones a little older than I like, I prefer 'em in the sixties." I said with a big smile.
The poor waitress stood there batting her eye-lashes, seemingly stuck for an answer.
My interest was early Japanese bikes, but this particular heap was from England.
"A Brit" I said, adding, "...funny, I usually go for the Asians".
Her smile drooped off on one side, so I knew she was thinking hard.
The relic was scratched and faded and in need of some serious TLC.
"Needs some work on her in the cosmetic department." I told her.
"And don't we all..." she joked, fingering her hair trying to move the awkward conversation along.
The old clunker was in need of a cylinder rebore and larger pistons, I figured she might be curious.
"Going to get the old girl a new set of jugs too!" I told her excitedly, using the Brit bike vernacular.
"New jugs..." repeated the waitress, like she didn't quite hear me right.
"Oversize ones!" I said with a big grin.
"I see, of course..., and have you had a chance to look at our menu sir?"
Common with old bikes, it burned oil, leaked oil, and had ignition problems.
"She stutters and smokes, and left a puddle on the floor. Her lights are on but she's not firing on all cylinders, if you know what I mean."
"Oh my..., would you like to hear about our special?" she asked hopefully.
The carb dripped fuel and there was a knock from what was probably a crank bearing.
I put it as delicately as I could.
"The old girl had a bad gas leak, and made strange noises." I stated.
"...Strange noises?" she asked flatly, staring straight ahead.
"Ya" I said, "From the bottom end!"
She was holding her pad and pencil up close in front of her face, and not asking any more questions I noticed, so I told her I would take my steak medium rare, my eggs over easy, and my toast white.
Breakfast took longer than usual to arrive, and I noticed they didn't seat anyone else in my section for some reason.
Come to think of it, since that day, the manager always came and took my order.