Sun 15 Jul 2001
I’m finishing up my flapjacks at the Majestic this morning when, on his fourth or fifth round to fill my bottomless coffee cup, James the Gay Waiter giggles and says he has to tell me this story.
“Ruhmember those tew little ol’ ladies sittin’ here at the counter when yew came ee-uhn,” he drawled in his sappy yet still tinny David Sedaris-like Southern accent. “Well, one of um’s lahk, ‘Come ‘ere,’ ” he quoted as he reproduced the crooking finger she used to draw his attention. “Ah said ‘Whut,’ an’ she said, ‘No, come ‘ere,’ ” as the crooking became more vigorous. He leaned in to me like he did to her — as he apparently had to since I sat only two stools down from granny at the time — ” ‘Ah jest have to tell yew,’ ” he continued quoting, ” ‘Ah know Ah shouldn’t be talkin’ lahk thee-us at mah age, but that man over there is so handsome!‘ ”
Who, Charles [the fry cook], I asked?
“No, yew!” he giggled. “And she kept on, sayin’, ‘Ah don’t know what it is but Ah cain’t stop lookin’ at ‘ee-uhm.’ And Ah said, ‘Aw, Ah know honey, Ah see it tew!’ ‘If only Ah was sixty yee-uhs younger…’ she said.”
Oh, goody. Granny Swanson and James the Gay Waiter. Well, beats bein’ ugly, I s’pose.
Oh and James?
“Yay-us?”
Next time she’s in here, just find out if she’s rich.
“Oh Ah hear ya, that’s all Ah need tuh fahnd me is a nice ol’ huzbind with about fower millyin in thuh bank and Ah’ll be fahn!”
You and me both, buddy.
