If in a court of law I’m asked why I was in that neighborhood at that time on that day, I’ll stick with the belt-exchanging story. There’s truth to it, so it won’t set off the polygraph. But really, I was hoping against hope to get a glimpse of Anna.
Now, I know, I know: Don’t fall for a bartender, don’t fall for a waitress. They’re nice to everyone; it’s in their financial interest to do so. Even Warren Zevon provided us with a cautionary tale. “Went home with the waitress, the way I always do,” he sang. “How was I to know, she was with the Russians too?”
But the temptation is often too strong. It’s easier than talking to a stranger. They even start the conversation. (“What’ll it be?”) And without much research at all, you know when and where to find them.
So, against my better judgement, and perhaps still buoyed by my one date with Patricia the bartender a few years back, I found myself charmed by Anna the café waitress. It’s not the best café in town, but I often attend shows at the attached venue, and besides, Anna works there.
I’d see her there about once a month over the course of several months, and we got to know each other a little. By that I mean she remembered my name, my whimsical drink (grape soda), and my serious one (Tempranillo). And I learned her name and her hopes and dreams of being a wedding stylist. I’d often be there with my friend Liz and hoped Anna didn’t think I was part of a couple. Once I was there all by myself thinking “this will clear it up” when, oh, attractive friend Jill spotted me across the room and pulled up a chair. Noooooo!!
I kept hoping for some exchange that would take things to the next level—you know, become Facebook friends. But with each pleasant but uneventful encounter, my dreams were dashed bit by bit. Now, you may be wondering, why didn’t you just bite the bullet, ask her out? And I have two very legitimate reasons. 1) If you strike out with the bartender or waitress, forget about going to that bar or restaurant again; and 2) I am an absolute coward.
I hadn’t been to the venue in a few months, and I figured I’d never see Anna again. In the intervening time, she’d likely moved on to some great wedding styling gigs, or waitressing somewhere else, who knows.
But then last Thursday I needed a belt. Jeans, really, but as long as I was there, I might as well get a belt. The store was about an 8-minute walk in the wrong direction from my train home. Figured I’d walk to the World Trade Center train stop (yes, they still call it that). And then realized, hmm, it would not be absurd to walk past the café. Drop in, wish Anna a happy new year, maybe stay for a glass of Tempranillo, a bite to eat perhaps. It would be nice.
Except the café was closed. What? The sign says open till 10 on Thursdays. Is today a holiday? Today is not a holiday. I stood there on the sidewalk for a long while. You missed your chance, friend.
My friend Liz went to the café twice this week, daytime and nighttime. No sign of Anna. Yeah, like I figured, moved on, gone for good, shoulda coulda woulda. Oh well.
Except… I did have to exchange that belt. The jeans fit great. I figured you could buy the same waist-size belt as the jeans. No you cannot. So tonight I did exchange that belt. And as long as I was headed in that direction….
The café was open. Behind the counter was… Anna! I feigned interest in the venue’s music/film calendar posted on the café’s window as I decided what to do next. OK, I’ve been under the weather, and this is a rare instance when I have food at home, I probably don’t look my best, I should just go home, I’ll come back another time. No no that’s silly go in right now, that’s why you walked over here, you jerk. Can’t do it, can’t do it, can’t do it.
I walked a block and a half away before I convinced myself to turn around. Because maybe this would be her last day there. You just never know. Live for the present, live for the moment. Screw my leftover pizza. I might never see her again.
“Happy new year,” I said.
“Happy new year,” she said. “You’re late.”
“Maybe I’m early,” I said. “Or right on time.”
“The show started at 7,” she said.
“I didn’t come for the show,” I said.
I came for you, for you, I came for you, but you did not need my urgency….
was what I wanted to say.
But instead explained about the belt.
Because I’m a coward.
But I learned when her birthday is (a week from Sunday) and where she’ll be (Eugene with the family, then Seattle with friends, at the Tractor Tavern for rockabilly) and that her late grandpa was a farmer and she remembered my name and told me they were out of grape soda without me asking and wondered if I’d like a Tempranillo and I thought about maybe making a birthday mix CD and bringing it by tomorrow before her trip to Oregon but decided that would be a little over-the-top but you know what, it’s good to have hope, and who knows, maybe this belt won’t fit either.
Jack Silbert, curator