While Daddy was in church, the waitress was working. (or maybe her shift started after church, again a few of the minor details aren't known to me.) The man who followed my Daddy home the night before...we'll call him Mr. B....came back to the diner. He was proudly carting cabbages. A present for the waitress. I really don't know what he expected from her. Maybe, to him, these cabbages deserved the praise of roses. Cabbages can be pretty, all growing out in a field, with rows and rows of pretty leaves opening to the sun. When picked, they quickly lose any beauty they had. Cabbages are also an odd gift. Some people do not even like cabbage. He had probably brought cabbages home to his mother, with warm reception, in the past. I can imagine the look on the waitress's face as she accepted her gift. You see, he had given her a very big tip before. She had accepted it, not thinking, because she had been praying for money to buy presents for her children for Christmas. Later she had been reprimanded and reminded of what a man might expect to come from such a large tip. She had not thought of that. It was too late now. Here he was again, this time bestowing cabbages. What did this man want from her? What did he expect?
I have been told, on numerous occasions, that what I am thinking is often very legible on my face. I think that is the case of this waitress. Maybe she wasn't normally very readable but when Mr. B came, bearing his gifts, he looked into her face. He was expecting to find the reception he received when he gave her the tip. He expected to see the look she gave my father over the Christmas cookies. He did not like this cool, guarded gaze reflecting in her eyes. He had seen this look before. One too many times....
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