“I think I’ll have the fruit plate,” I told the waitress. “And let me have an extra slice of cantaloupe.”
“O.K. Mr. Dennis,” she said. “And for you, Mr. Jon? The usual?”
“I always have the same thing,” Jon said. “I like that Mexican breakfast.”
As the waitress walked away Jon said, “I like that waitress, too. It’s a shame she’s not on the menu.”
Jon and I usually meet every Friday morning for our breakfast and chat. We ate our breakfast at the little sidewalk restaurant and talked about the things that old Vietnam veterans talk about.
This last week I reached the restaurant before Jon and decided to go ahead and order.
“I’m going to try the Mexican breakfast,” I told her.
“Sure, Mr. Dennis.”
She turned my order in to the kitchen and started pouring my coffee. The cook came out to the front and said, “Lupe, we are out of eggs and salsa casera. I can’t fix that Mexican breakfast for you.”
“Oh, that’s O.K. with me,” I said. “I’ll just have the fruit plate.”
“Will you scratch the Mexican breakfast from the menu for me?” the cook asked.
“Sure,” Lupe said.
I sat there drinking my coffee and Jon came in and sat down.
“I’ve already given my order,” I told him. “You might as well order now.”
Lupe came over to our table with her pad and pen in hand.
“Oh, Mr. Jon,” she said, “I just finished scratching what you like.”
“That’s all right with me,” Jon said, “as long as you wash your hands before you bring me my Mexican breakfast.”
