Thursday, November 09, 2006

The other night a woman came into the restaurant and gave us the name on her reservation. It was a vaguely familiar - though also not terribly unique - last name, but when I glanced at her phone number, it was a very familiar - and very distant - area code: 303. I love the 303 area code. Love. It.

So I asked her if she was Hannah Katz's mother. She looked completely stunned. And did not recognize me. Which is completely understandable because she hasn't seen me since I was in 5th grade. And I like to think that I've changed a bit since then, even if I haven't filled out much. I told her who I was and she was pretty shocked and excited and told me how excited she was to tell all of the mutual-Jewish-mother-aquaintances that she ran into me.

After her dinner was over, she stopped off to chat, I asked her about what Hannah was doing (PR in Chicago, and happy), she asked about my parents, I told her they were well etc. etc. And then things turned nasty. She mentioned that her husband had just run the NY Marathon. And I was going to let that one slide because, well, how was she to know that I was feeling guilty about not having gone running all week? But then she uttered those painful words I have been dreading hearing since I took this job (and, let's be honest, since I graduated) "So! What else are you doing?"

I told her I was paying rent. And then pretended to have to help a customer.



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