Baggage

She is either a bag lady who’s looking good considering her circumstances or an aspiring society matron who has failed at being trendy. The suburban restaurant where I work at in Palo Alto is next to a Red Cross building and across the street from a shopping mall. The mall is there so that townsfolk can buy cashmere scarves and designer jeans without having to go to the city and face street riffraff. The Red Cross is there to make the barrier even greater; the free coffee and sandwiches are supposed to prevent panhandling. The proximity of these places makes the restaurant is a sanctuary for weary shoppers and a stopping point for the homeless population and today I can’t tell which sector we are taking in.

The lady in question who just walked in is thin, almost thirty and wears leg warmers, a long jean skirt, and a tight green and pink striped shirt. She has an ‘80s look to her and since the period is in vogue, I don’t know if she’s imitating Madonna or if she’s wearing a Goodwill selection from a donor who copied Madonna twenty years ago. She is carrying several small shopping bags with her and she sits on a large leather couch inside the building after the valet walks her inside.

“Can I help you?” I ask.

“You could get me a glass of water,” she says, nervously looking around. “Could you?”

Certain customers might demand a beverage, but deciding to ask in addition is a clue that this lady probably doesn’t belong.

“Are you waiting for someone?” I ask.

“You could say that,’ she says. “ I went to a restaurant on University Avenue yesterday and the bartender threw me out because he said I was trying to scam a meal. Could I have some water please?”

“Yeah, no problem.”

“ So I’m going to meet the guy who was going to buy me dinner and he’ll take me out tonight. But I’ll give him sex afterwards, so it’s not like I’m scamming anything.”

She looks at me with wide eyes and again asks for a drink.

“Yeah sure. Just one second,” I say.

I bring her cup of water and she thanks me and leaves, taking a generous portion of mints on the way out. As I refill glasses of ice tea, smile politely at the jokes of customers and listen to complaints about dry steak, I think about how awful it is to have your own daily survival depend on your charm and the moods of others.