one of the fleetwood diner's most highly tenured waitresses recently made a shocking confession to me. over sunday brunch this weekend, after lamenting the fact that her daughter's stellar performance in the school spelling bee had earned the pair a gift certificate for the Old Country Buffet, this waitress told me about the only thing trashier than a date at the OCB. it would seem that many years ago, a certain server was courted by a gentleman whose method of seduction was second-to-none. this guy would drive his date, in his camaro, to the plasma donation center, where the two would give blood. with a crisp twenty dollar bill in his pocket, the beau would then pick up a cheap forty, which was subsequently consumed by the underaged future waitress. her defenses lowered, the gentleman then had little trouble gaining permission to access the waitress's vagina.
although i thought that sounded pretty hot, the waitress seemed skeptical about the nature of a dude who would pull that racket. my breakfast companion, a homeless woman named mary who'd wordlessly seated herself at my table several minutes before, appeared less than impressed with the waitress' holier-than-thou take on her former lover's technique. mary, who'd recently arrived in town via the greyhound bus, leaned over to me.
"well would you rather have him make you give plasma for an easy ten bucks, or have to listen to him beg people for a dollar every fifteen minutes while you're out with him?" mary muttered into my ear.
well that is a different way to look at it, mary," i replied. mary looked at me blankly.
"will you buy me a coke?"
"no."
a few minutes later, a guy at the next table who looked like he just walked out of a vocational school brochure was discussing his job search with a man who appeared to be his thoroughly stoned father. "i heard the k-mart on maple is hiring," he was heard to remark. again mary was unimpressed. she laughed bitterly before saying, "K-mart! who'd want to work there?!"
finding her attemps at conversation met with silence, mary set about amusing herself by counting out the contents of her purse.
she sighed. "eighty-six cents. damn."
"it's a start," i offered.