Mike thought this was a weird day in the Room. Why? Beautiful outside, and not a visitor with which to dialogue. “What is it with today” he said to Jack, interrupting his sip of the Syrah. “What is it with you and that Syrah?”
“It gives me peace. Want to go outside,” Jack said, gently dropping the glass into the dirty glass rack on rollers, under the sink beneath the counter. “Did you get that email?”
“What email? From here?”
“Yeah, about the wine club incentives for us? Sounds pretty sweet.” Jack took out another glass, poured a bit more Syrah than he would for a guest.
“That’s great, but I can’t sell clubs to save my life, or job. I’m horrible at it,” Mike said, feeling as though he needed a sip as well.
Older woman comes in. She’s one of our growers, talks to me like I’m an idiot, one who should give her discount over discount, atop more discounts. Who the hell is this lady?
Nice group of club members, early 40s I guess. Like family, truly. Love members like this. They love the Zins. In fact, I think they’re all in the Zin club except for the lady on the left, with the bright orange purse. That thing could be used as a road flare, or substitute for a cone during freeway construction. Shouldn’t make fun, she tipped me $10. The others, offered gratuity in the form of smiles. I prefer bills. Can’t buy my morning mocha with smiles.
Lady describing the Cab Franc as dry. Just heard her say it like four times. “Dry, dry, dry, dry,” she said, writing the word on the copy of the wine list I gave her. The guy she came in with looked me, as if to apologize, then started to giggle, trying to hold back a more hefty laugh, directed at her.
“Can I get the Sauv Blanc from you there, sir?” Joey asked, balancing on his left foot, leaning towards me.
“Here you go,” Mike said, handing the green tinted bottle to him. Sauv Blanc was always strange to Mike, its look, nose, overall note. Odd. Like grass-laced, watered-down, grapefruit juice. Yuck.
“How long have you been working here?” The lady Mike was helping asked, finishing her pour of the Rhone.
“Off and on since 2006,” Mike said, pouring her the Merlot.
“What else do you do?” she asked.
“I’m a writer and English Instructor.”
“What can you tell me about your wine club?” she asked. Mike wondered how the transition was made from the prior topic to that current. Was the fact that he was a writer and instructor boring? Not worthy of discussion? Maybe not, in her mind. And now that he reflected, neither in his.
Got a wine club! My first in...weeks. Why am I so happy? Why not? This deserves a Syrah sip. Where’s Jack?
Lunch is overdue, and this crowd is of rowdy potential. Two ladies, probably mid-20s, came in together, are arguing quite ardently over by window. People are staring. I’m entertained.
Sounds a lot like waiting tables. I love those weirdly entertaining days at work. You're bound to get the rude ones on a regular basis - the ones that throw their perfectly pink filet's at you because it was ordered medium rare but clearly isn't browned all the way through, or the ones that snap in the air to get your attention during the dinner stampede. But it's the road flare purses and the old men losing their pants that grant the giggles and the rare experience of genuine couples that allow for smiles and a sense that the job might be worth it - some days.
ReplyDeleteAt least it keeps you entertained and gives you something to write about so I can vicariously be entertained. If I move up there after graduation you're getting me a freaking job!
PS - Love the style.