A Peek Back

When I graduated from college, I moved to Southern Colorado "for the summer" and stayed for a year. I worked in a European-style cafe in a small former mining town and the days stretched out before me-- long and golden, like the shadows of the cattle on the plains.

And some days, weeellllllll, some days went like this:

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One day, a man came in who we'd never seen before. He was probably in his mid-forties, over six feet tall, and--it must be said--rather large. I'd like to think he was a linebacker in his day, but years of beer and down-home cooking had done him in. His thinning hair was a mousy brown, with a certain greasy uncleanliness. There was a patch sticking up in the back, untouched since he hauled himself out of bed that morning. An unkempt mustache twitched above his protruding duck lips when he spoke. I came upon the sight of him about halfway through his lunch order. He wanted soup, but without the side of bread. A sandwich but without the side salad. Coffee, extra cream. And can he please have a glass of water too? Oh, and do you have any cookies? Okay, forget the soup, add two pumpkin cookies. No maybe he wanted the soup AND the cookies.

I giggle to myself a bit and then head back to the kitchen to bring clean dishes up to the counter. When I return, I find Rachel patiently preparing his lunch, while the man is leaning largely over the counter poking into a very small box with his sausage-like fingers. He comes up with a small plastic bag. At this point he is breathing heavily, as though he's just run stairs for forty-five minutes. I won't even tell you about the breath... So, he's fiddling with this itty bag and finally gets it open, carefully turns it upside down and dumps the contents into his massive palm.

"Excuse me, ma'am?" Crap. I turn around slowly, catching Rachel's laughing eyes in the process. I smile.

"Yes, did you get everything you need?"

"Yeah, I was wondering if you could put these in for me." Put what exactly, where? He turns his head so that his elephant ear is facing me and he holds up one of the objects that have been lost in his hand. An earring. Oh you have GOT to be kidding me. His earlobe is looming above my face, pierced and waiting to be decorated. "My wife won't be off work until later and I want to get them in before I lose them." He thrusts his hand out to show me. Oh no. These are not just any earrings. These are the kind of earrings my grandma bought me for my eleventh birthday. You know, birthstone studs. Yes, that's right. Little round red jewel studs with a minuscule diamond attached for flair. He looks at me, waiting, hopeful.

Rachel is practically snorting in a failed attempt to stifle her laughter. I have no words. I open my mouth to say something I have not yet thought of when, glory to God, the phone rings.

"Oh, excuse me just a minute, I need to grab that." I dash for the kitchen. Of course someone else has already answered it, but I've escaped! I breathe a sigh of relief. Ellie asks what's going on with her baffled glance. "There is a man out there who asked me to put his EARRINGS IN HIS EARS!" I hiss.

"WHAT?! Who is it?"

"I have no idea; I've never seen him. But I have to go back out there! AH!" I rustle around the kitchen for several minutes, hoping he'll forget what he asked me.

I take a deep breath and walk back. Oh bless! He's putting the earrings back into the little bag. Well, he's trying to anyway.

"Nevermind, I'm going to have Fred do it... He's a jeweler."

"Oh good. Yeah, we really shouldn't do it since we're working with food and everything." This of course, was the obvious response I should have had fifteen minutes ago. But, honestly, who can blame me? It's not like strange men come in everyday, order lunch and then ask ever so sweetly if you could please put their earrings in.

So the man eats his lunch, waves a thank you and heads across the street to the jeweler. And what do you know, a few days later he reappears, eleven-year-old-girl earrings shining brightly from his Buddha lobes. Since then, he has come in several times a week ordering his very particular lunch and coffee. Only now, he sits in the table closest to the counter and makes small requests throughout his meal. Could I please have a napkin? Do you have any half and half? Could I get an extra pickle? I need some extra icing for my cinnamon roll. Oh, and could you wash my hair while you're at it?