Lady Loca

An older lady with short hair, crazy eyes and a crooked smile sat at a table outside.  The sun was shining and happy hour had just begun. 

I greeted her.  She ignored my “How are you doing today?” question and immediately asked me to read her the happy hour menu because she didn’t have her glasses.  She then asked me to bring water with lots of lime and lemon squeezed into it so she didn’t have to “taste the chlorine.”   After I spent several minutes explaining every single happy hour food and beer selection on the menu, she finally decided on something. 

That wasn’t too out of the ordinary, but her mannerisms were.  Not once did she look me in the eye and hers were wandering all over the place.  She also had a hard time sitting still.  She kept shifting her weight and moving her arms and legs around.  She definitely wasn’t drunk, but she wasn’t sober either.   Whether her high was from a plant or the kind you need a prescription for, she was undoubtedly feeling good.

I observed her from inside of the restaurant.  She was basking in the sun and drenching her legs with her lemon-lime chlorine water.  She was talking to herself as well as singing out loud.  My busser and I looked at each other and shared a laugh.  “What the hell is going on out there?”  He laughed, “Ella es muy loca.”  She was crazy; she definitely had a few loose screws upstairs.  Then he joked, “I don’t’ even want to go over there again.” 

The next time I looked over at her table, I noticed something I’d never seen anyone do before.  She’d ordered steamed clams and a pilsner – that was nothing unusual.  But what was unusual was that she stacked all of her empty clamshells into her empty pilsner glass, and in addition, stacked her used lemon wedges on top as if it were a garnish.  It was a work of art, I will admit.  But seriously, who does that. 

It was a busy happy hour and I was slammed with other tables.  I honestly didn’t give her too much attention (although her recycled art project kept catching my eye).   She seemed entertained enough with herself as it was and frankly I didn’t want to get sucked into whatever planet she was living on.  I feared I might never return to planet Earth if I got stuck in her orbit for too long.  I decided to take my busser’s advice and to spend as little time as possible in her outrageous layer. 

However, the inevitable happened and she needed me again.  She wanted a different beer this time and another appetizer.  After going in circles a bit (figuratively and literally as far as her eyes were concerned), she decided on a cheese plate and a light beer.  I walked away as soon as she decided, although I think she was still trying to tell me something else… Lord only knows.   No matter, I had six other tables to attend to. 

Another half hour or so passed and I’d been busy juggling a full station.  Time had flown by.  I looked over at Lady Loca and noticed she was gone.  Her beer was empty and her cheese demolished.  Uh oh.  Was this her plan all along? God I should have seen this coming.  I asked my busser if he’d seen her leave.  He hadn’t.  I asked the host if she saw anything.  She thought crazy lady went to the restroom.  Part of me didn’t believe her.  I wanted to, but didn’t. 

I kept waiting tables, albeit flustered and longing for crazy lady’s whereabouts. 

Then, reappearing like some type of crazed hippie, I caught a glimpse of her, prancing down the stairs to our so-called music.  She was shaking her hips and waving her arms as if she was back in the 60’s in the front row at Woodstock.  I heard her say out loud (to no one in particular), “I love this music!”  Keep in mind no one even likes our music, let alone loves it. 

I printed her check and cautiously walked over to her.  “Enjoying the music, are ya?”  I grinned, trying to hold back a laugh.  For the first time since meeting her, she actually responded.  “Oh yes, it’s lovely!  Everything’s been wonderful!”  I presented her check and she opened her wallet.  Another table waved at me.  I told her I’d be right back.  I kept my eye on her, observing from afar.   She struggled getting her card out of her wallet.  Another server began to help her.  He offered her a pen.  It seems she’s signing a room charge.  Room charge?  Impossible.   My crazy, high, little hippie lady is actually staying at our hotel?  Figuring the odds of her writing an incorrect room number were extremely high, I immediately walked over to her.  “Are you staying in this hotel ma’am?  Is this your room number?”  She said yes, along with a few other words I could barely make out.  I checked the room number with her name.  It matched.  Then I noticed the amount she signed.  The check was about $30 and she signed to just over $60.  Did she mean to leave a 100% tip?  I had to do the right thing and ask.  Enthusiastically she replied, “Oh yes, honey.  This was the best afternoon I’ve had since I’ve been here! Thank you!”  She pranced out the door and down the boardwalk.

Wow. 

Talk about a whirlwind of amusement.  I felt like I should have paid her for the entertainment she provided. 

Lady Loca you’re welcome back anytime.  ~ HK ~