stuff i eat, 02
the restaurant hadn't even been opened five minutes when this bearded man wearing a black turban walked in. he hurried to the front counter holding an opened wallet in his right hand.
"i'll tell you your fortune. i'll read your palm. let me see your hand." he pointed at my hand.
i looked at his wallet and saw a photograph of a group of children. i presumed that they were his family.
"is it free? or..."
he shook his head.
"i don't have any money." i said.
"anything. i'll tell you your fortune." he locked eyes with me and began rubbing his mid-forehead with his left knuckles. "i see you. you're a good person. good fortune. let me see your palm." he pointed at my hands resting on the counter.
"well... i'm not lying about not having any money. you can see my palm if you really really want to... but... no money." i patted my pants pockets.
he frowned.
"i can tell you your future." he exclaimed.
"you can see into the future?" i asked.
he nodded, a look of triumph falling over his face.
"then you should already know that this transaction ain't gonna go down because i have no money in my wallet." i yanked out my wallet and pried it open for him to see the abyss that is my pathetically empty wallet.
he pointed at the cash register.
"come on... just take some out. borrow it. you can put it back later." he pointed at the picture in his wallet. "for the children."
"i don't have any money. and i can't just open this register and grab cash all willy-nilly. what kinda future and fortune would that be for me? you'd tell me that you see good fortune in my future, but... i'd be broke as hell and jobless."
he laughed and turned to walk out of the restaurant.
my boss came up to the counter and stood beside me as we both watched him leave out the front door.
"we really should get a 'no solicitors' sign." she said.
"we could do that..." i laughed. "but... what would be the fun in that?"
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a couple of weeks ago, our restaurant (www.stuffieat.com) appeared in the los angeles sentinel. yesterday, two of our female staff members (both whom had been interviewed for the article) received a handwritten letter from a 51-year-old prison inmate claiming that he saw them in the paper and that he thought they'd make great pen pals.
i encouraged them to respond.
i mean... come on... it's not every day that you randomly get fan mail from a stranger in jail. that's gotta count for something in the grand scheme of things.
"i'll tell you your fortune. i'll read your palm. let me see your hand." he pointed at my hand.
i looked at his wallet and saw a photograph of a group of children. i presumed that they were his family.
"is it free? or..."
he shook his head.
"i don't have any money." i said.
"anything. i'll tell you your fortune." he locked eyes with me and began rubbing his mid-forehead with his left knuckles. "i see you. you're a good person. good fortune. let me see your palm." he pointed at my hands resting on the counter.
"well... i'm not lying about not having any money. you can see my palm if you really really want to... but... no money." i patted my pants pockets.
he frowned.
"i can tell you your future." he exclaimed.
"you can see into the future?" i asked.
he nodded, a look of triumph falling over his face.
"then you should already know that this transaction ain't gonna go down because i have no money in my wallet." i yanked out my wallet and pried it open for him to see the abyss that is my pathetically empty wallet.
he pointed at the cash register.
"come on... just take some out. borrow it. you can put it back later." he pointed at the picture in his wallet. "for the children."
"i don't have any money. and i can't just open this register and grab cash all willy-nilly. what kinda future and fortune would that be for me? you'd tell me that you see good fortune in my future, but... i'd be broke as hell and jobless."
he laughed and turned to walk out of the restaurant.
my boss came up to the counter and stood beside me as we both watched him leave out the front door.
"we really should get a 'no solicitors' sign." she said.
"we could do that..." i laughed. "but... what would be the fun in that?"
=========
a couple of weeks ago, our restaurant (www.stuffieat.com) appeared in the los angeles sentinel. yesterday, two of our female staff members (both whom had been interviewed for the article) received a handwritten letter from a 51-year-old prison inmate claiming that he saw them in the paper and that he thought they'd make great pen pals.
i encouraged them to respond.
i mean... come on... it's not every day that you randomly get fan mail from a stranger in jail. that's gotta count for something in the grand scheme of things.