A Monday Night Encounter

Because I close on a lot of Monday nights, there is a certain Monday night phenomenon I've noticed.  We get a lot of one-tops on Mondays, compared to other nights.  You could say that a lot of people come to the Crustacean with a case of the Mondays. 

This one particular Monday night, a few months ago, we were especially slow.  I was working Zip, maintaining my tables without a problem and making decent money considering the infrequency of guests.  At roughly 8:15, I brought out the tray of two Big Shrimp meals for my lone teenage two-top and stopped at my newly seated table to greet the gentleman sitting there, alone.

"Hello, sir, welcome to the Scarlet Crustacean.  How are you tonight?"  I stretched my cheesy-waiter-smile across my face.
By the lines near his eyes, the man looked roughly fifty, perhaps a few years older.  He wore an expensive, dark gray business suit and a tie that contrasted well with his fully light gray hair.  I guessed either lawyer or stock-broker; no, I thought, correcting myself, definitely lawyer.  He doesn't look haggard enough for a stockbroker, these days.
Lawyer-Man looked up from the menu and smiled back. "Hi.  I'm excellent, thank you.  How are you?"
He actually paused for a response.
"I'm doing great, thanks.  My name is Calvin; I'll be your server this evening."  I asked him if he was familiar with our promotions and he said he was, so I cut to the chase.  "What can I bring you to drink tonight, sir?  We have some great drinks at the bar - the new Sam Adams is on tap."
"Hmm... I'd like a strawberry daiquiri, please.  And I'm ready to order my meal, as well, if that's all right."  He folded the menu properly and passed it over to me.
"Perfect," I said, "what would you like?"
I took his meal order and went to the bar to pick his drink up.  The table with the teenagers was set, the kids thoroughly enjoying their meals by now, so I waited an extra second to ask him if the drink was to his satisfaction.  Lawyer-Man took a polite sip of his drink, closed his eyes, savoring the flavor, and smiled kindly.  "Yes, Calvin, this is fine."  Before I could walk away, he was talking again.  "So, Calvin, is it usually this... uh... busy on a Monday night?"  His eyes danced around the restaurant to further make his point.
"It varies," I responded.  "Sometimes it's busier, sometimes it's even deader than this.  Sometimes it's just like this.  It's comfortable, though, right?  Coming into a restaurant when it's not busy, I mean."  I was humoring him with the small talk, but I was serious about what I said.  I've always preferred dining out when the restaurants I would visit were quiet.  In most places the service doesn't change all that drastically, but the environment, the atmosphere, is entirely more comfortable.  You're not as pressed for time, there isn't nearly as much ambient noise, and everyone -- the hosts, the servers, the management, even the other guests -- everyone is more relaxed. 
"Oh, of course.  But you'd probably prefer if you had more people here tonight, right?"
What a gentleman!  This guy was not only polite when dining out, but he could fathom what it would be like in my position.  "Yeah, I wouldn't mind if we were a little busier.  The night's not going too badly, though, considering the light traffic.  It's nice, every once in a while, even on this side of the table, to get an easygoing evening."
"Do you like working here?"  He took another sip of his drink and kept his eyes up when he spoke to me.
"I don't dislike it," I cautiously admitted, "though it's not my career."
"Oh?  What is your field of choice, then, if I may ask?"
"I'm in school getting my graduate degree."  I filled him in briefly on my 'field of choice' and then asked him what his profession was, to be polite.  I assumed that's what he wanted me to ask, and I'm in the business of making money.  Some tables want food, some tables want small talk.  This guy seemed to be the latter.
"I'm a lawyer.  Corporate law, mostly, though I've handled some criminal cases."
"Ah, that's cool.  I almost went into law.  You must enjoy it."
"Yeah, certainly.  I've been practicing for well over twenty years now.  And it's still exciting for me."  He grinned. 
In my peripheral vision I caught sight of a couple of half-empty glasses at my other table.  (When you're a server, the glass is always half-empty, until you fill it up.)  The teens were still stuffing their faces full of fish and choking down bread like they might never eat again.  They definitely needed refills.  "Can I bring you anything else while you wait for your meal?" I asked Actual Lawyer-Man.  "I'll have your salad and bread out in just a few minutes."
"No thanks, Calvin.  I'm fine."  He smiled earnestly and reached to his side, retrieving some formal-looking papers stashed on the booth's bench, between him and the wall.

I refilled the drinks I saw my other table emptying and then headed back to the alley to prepare the man's salad and bread.  He'd asked for the light dressing and preferred it on the side.  Not overly complicated, and not annoying at all considering that I didn't have anything better to do that night.  I brought it out shortly thereafter.
"Oh, this looks great, Calvin.  Thank you."
"No problem, sir."
"Call me Jerry.  You're not a client, right?"  He winked, I laughed, and as I started walking away he began eating his salad.
I had barely walked into the alley when I heard my name.  "Hey, Calvin," said one of the managers, beckoning me toward the office.
"What's up, Pam?"  I strolled over to her to find out what she wanted.  Her eyebrows were furrowed in amusement.  I'm still not sure how it's possible that people (myself included) can discern what she's feeling based on her expressions; they all look the same, with the same furrowed eyebrows and the same pursed lips.  Sometimes it's amusement; sometimes it's confusion; sometimes it's impatience; sometimes it's rage.  Only when she's genuinely surprised or happy do her eyebrows move up.
"The gentleman at forty-six.  That's your table, right?"
"...Yes."  I agreed suspiciously.  "Why?"  My eyes narrowed and I felt myself tense with the effort to perceive what she was getting at - whether or not I should be concerned (read: whether or not I was going to be in trouble).
"He's extraordinarily nice, isn't he?  A very nice man.  I stopped over to check on some tables and he was really quite nice," she repeated.
"That he is."  I smiled, thinking back on the evening.  "I've been getting great tables all night.  It's a good Monday, so far."
Pam patted me on the back.  "Great!  Keep up the good work."

I brought Lawyer-Man Jerry's food out to him and laid it on the table.  "Fresh trout, grilled as requested with vegetables and rice.  Here you are, good sir.  Please be careful, the plate may be hot."
Three... two... one.  "Ow!  Oh, yeah, right."  It never fails.
"Everything look okay, sir?"
He stopped futzing with the plate, tore his eyes from the food, and looked back at me.  "Yeah, looks perfect, Calvin.  Thank you."
I nodded and walked off to cash out the teenagers.  They were doing the Too-Much-Too-Fast Leanback.  It's a restaurant-exclusive dance consisting of a single move.  Everyone can do it, but teens are the only ones who seem to have perfected it.

I stopped back at Jerry's table a minute or two later.  "Does your meal taste all right?"
"Mmmh!" he exclaimed, and swallowed the food he'd been chewing, "yeah, it's really good!"
"Glad to hear it," I said.  "Just let me know if you need anything else from the kitchen."
"No, I'm all right for now.  There's a lot of food here!  Want to sit down and help me out?"  He let out a good-natured laugh, knowing that wouldn't really be appropriate.  It wasn't the first time a table had suggested such a thing; I think I'm a pretty likable server.
"Haha, thanks, Jerry, but I don't think so.  Enjoy your food, though!"
"And you enjoy your, uh, waitering."  Always smiling, this guy.
"I will."  And at the moment, I meant it.


A little while later, I asked if he wanted dessert.  He ordered the cheesecake (politely, of course) and I brought it right out.  "Here you go, sir."  As I slid the plate in front of him, I placed his check down on the corner of the table so he could cash out when he was ready. 
"Oh, that dessert does look tasty."
"Agreed.  Hope you like it."
"I'm sure I will."
I took one step, he took one bite, and then: "Yep, definitely good cheesecake."
"Great!"  I smiled my cheesy-waiter-smile.  Again.
"So, on a day like this, when you guys are clearly not busy, do you still get stuck here very late?"
"Nah, it shouldn't be too bad tonight.  I'll probably get out earlier than usual."
"What's earlier than usual?" he asked between bites.
I shrugged, considering the timing and how long it would take me to get my work done.  "Ten-ish."
"Oh, that's not bad at all.  Plenty of time for a young guy like you to enjoy the evening."
"Heh.  Yeah, except for the reading I need to do for class."
He slid down another bite of cheesecake.  "Yeah, well, besides that.  At least you get out at a decent hour, right?  I've still got this--" he lifted a large stack of papers from the bench to the table next to his plate "-- to go through.  I'm only about halfway through it.  On the bright side, I can probably put it off tonight."
"Oh, well that's good, at least."
"Yes, certainly is."  He grinned at me and finished his cheesecake, then slipped his credit card into the check binder.  I walked away and ran it, returning it with the slips he needed to sign.
"Well, Calvin," he said, signing the slips, "thank you very much for a very satisfying meal.  If you ever need a lawyer, let me know.  Here's my card."  He passed me a business card.  "By the way, you're an excellent waiter."  He put his hand out for a handshake.
"Thanks, sir," I replied.  I shook his hand.  "I try."  It's true.  I do.
"It's been a pleasure, Calvin."
The handshake seemed to extend a little longer than I'm used to, but I mentally shrugged, figuring he'd gotten distracted or something.  He smiled again at me before standing up to leave.

I walked into the alley and opened the check binder to look at the credit card slip.  He had left me a generous tip, and more.  Seriously, there was more.  On the itemized copy, he had jotted his name and his personal cell phone number, with the words, "Thanks for a great time, Calvin!" written beneath them.

I puzzled for a minute trying to figure out what had just happened.  Still in the alley, I showed the slip to my friend Leon and asked him what he thought. 
First he keeled over laughing.  The only thing that kept him from falling down on the floor was that we were in the kitchen of a seafood restaurant, and that would be gross.  "Well, clearly, Jerry liked you more than a little," he announced between bouts of laughter. 
"You mean..."
"Yes.  Why else would he have left you his personal cell phone number?"
Wow.  Okay, well, that's a first for me.  I laughed out loud.  I was shocked, amused at myself for being so blind, and found the whole exchange hilarious. I ran through the events aloud.  "The casual conversation, the smiles, the compliments, the clear interest in my vocation, the comments about when I would get out of work, the extended handshake, the phone number, the message..."
"The strawberry daiquiri he ordered when he sat down..."  Leon raised both eyebrows at me.  "Do you not have any gaydar?
"Guess not," I replied.  "I've been given phone numbers before, but not from old lawyer men."
"Oh," said Leon, "are they usually from old men of other occupations?"  He smirked at me.  Damnit, Leon, I know you're sarcastic, too, but really, man.  In the end, there can be only one.
"No.  They're usually hot women.  But I can understand why you wouldn't have guessed that, since it never happens for you."
"That's okay, Cal.  You can have all the experiences with old men giving you their phone numbers.  I don't need it to happen for me."
I rolled my eyes at him.
"So are you gonna call him?" he asked, patting me on the back.
"I'm going to treat that as rhetorical."
"Ah.  Pleading the fifth must be special advice from your special lawyer-friend."
I walked away, chuckling.  Leon was being a sarcastic jerk, but it's my brand of humor, so even on the other end of it I still find it funny.
And I still find it funny.  He brings it up once in a while just to have something to laugh at me about, even though this happened months ago.  I suppose, though, that if I can't take it, I shouldn't dish it.  Waiter pun intended.