Pop-Pop Geno & "The Cougar"

The night started out normal: someone's steak was over-cooked. A thirteen year-old drowned herself in seven Sierra Mists. Actually, the shift was beginning to feel uncomfortably ordinary. The lack of chaos was unsettling.

My fellow servers would agree that tonight, I had the worst three-table section: two two-tops and a four-top. I heartily disagree. The tables in my section faced Times Square, allowing guests to entertain themselves. Windows lined the tables. After 8pm, the inebriated are let loose to pet the NYCPD horses. Asians are snapping pictures with their over-sized Cannons. The famous "Can I Have A Beer?" homeless guy is riding the waves of foreign tourists, full-throttle. Restaurant-goers couldn't pay for this kind of window-side entertainment.

And just ten minutes before our doors close for the night, it happens.

Let's take a Zack Morris time-out:

The host walks a man and a woman to a table in my section (note: all tables are currently empty). If you missed the gentleman's swagger, you surely saw this woman's hobble. I'm quickly trying to diagnose a problem... then I stop. He's wearing a minx wrap-around and she is wearing long, black, bedazzled gloves. He looks like her very young son, except his hand is up her leather skirt. She looks like his grandmother, except her tongue is clearly in his mouth. I stop diagnosing a problem. I am thrilled. Tonight's blog will write itself.

Zack Morris time-in.

We start table chat. They enjoy this. I learn much, including the following facts: he just turned 30 last month, she is 64 -- about to turn 65 in October. He grew up in NYC and she has lived the last 45 years in Florida. Reiteration: he was wearing a minx wrap-around; she is wearing fish nets and long, black, bedazzled gloves. His family owns the building that Gucci rents on 5th Avenue... she just collected on her late husband's life insurance plan. His appearance alone suggests that he is worth well-over a million dollars; the woman knows this and clings to his young, muscular arms. 

Side note: our cougar has a lazy eye. Additional note/disclaimer: NYC Waitress does not hate on lazy eyes. In Times Square, you see all types of people... you learn how to serve them all. My struggle: which eye do you look at? Just when I think I've got the good eye, I freak out, look at the other wandering eye (he/she clearly notices).. then it's all over. The rapport has now twirled itself down the drain. 

Older, Floridian woman: "He takes good care of me."

Younger, Italian man draped in Minx: "Yeah, she's my girl."

NYC Waitress: "There's love at the table, that's for sure."

Cougar: "There's more than love, baby... this is a real Coach."

(shows new Coach purse, with tags).

Pop-Pop Geno: "... Coach, baby."

NYCW, playing dumb: "Who's that? Was he in Sleepless in Seattle?"

Pop-Pop Geno & Cougar look confused. 

Cougar, quick to save: "Yeah baby, I think he was. He's the guy who owns Coach. I think he was a doctor in that movie or something." Cougar looks at Pop-Pop. "Right, baby?"

Pop-Pop Geno: "Yeah baby, he made millions off that film." Kisses her hand, then her ring. Her gloves are still on. She is wearing her rings over her bedazzled gloves.

At this time, I should also reiterate that this blog is essentially writing itself.

Cougar: "We're looking for apartments in Manhattan. After my husband died, God rest him, Geno found me. I never thought I'd find a second soul mate. You find one, you think.. I'm the luckiest girl in the world. What happens when you find a second soulmate?"

NYCW: "You ask for his routing number for verification."

Cougar: "Oh baby, it's not about the money. We're going to find a nice high-rise in Midtown, maybe Soho. Money isn't a problem. We ain't got problems."

NYCW, internal monologue: the only problem here is that this woman is failing eighth grade grammar... and wearing Prada.

Pop-Pop Geno: "I went to Florida for a few weeks. I didn't expect to find the love of my life, but I did, and now we're apartment hunting in Manhattan."

NYCW: "I have the name of a good broker... she helped me find an awesome apartment, for cheap. I'm looking into moving out of Queens, and back to Manhattan... keeping my eye out for a steal."

(the moment I said "keeping an eye out..." I looked at her wandering eye; epic fail).

Pop-pop G: "You know baby doll, you find an apartment for me and the Mrs -- and you've got yourself a room."

NYCW: "Come again?"

Pop-pop G: "We need at least two bedrooms. A jacuzzi... a sauna. If you can find a three bedroom apartment for less than five G's a month, we'll pay the rent, and you can have the third room."

NYCW: "Here's my cell phone number; don't lose this napkin."

Networking is an NYC past-time. Networking with cougars & their young: an elite NYC trend.

For two people, they managed to work up their food/drinks tab up to $140. Three appetizers, crab legs, and dessert all make an appearance. Pop-Pop asks for the bill.

* dropping check *

Cougar: "What if we just got married tonight? Baby, what if we just went up to one of those chapels? You know, like Britney Spears?"

Pop-Pop G: "You want to, baby?"

NYCW: "I will totally be your Maid of Honor... now THAT'D be a good story."

Cougar: "Where's the napkin with your cell? I'm callin', baby. You'll be the bestest Maid of Honor. We'll find you other clothes to wear, too."

NYCW: "I love clothes. This work uniform will not do. You know, I CAN clean-up."

Cougar: "Okay, let's do this. Let's get... let's... let's find a chapel and let's... I think I need another glass of merlot."

It is now 45 minutes past the restaurant's closing time. I ask the manager if we can get the love birds two shots of Patron on the house. It's important to clear these goodwill deeds with the higher-ups... we're a chain restaurant, not Sardi's. I happily skip the expensive tequila over, already imaging the wedding chapel. I'm certain that my dress will be the shade of Floridian coral.

Pop-pop G is glowing as he takes out his wallet, laying bills down on the table. My peripherals  spy big bills. "Keep the change, baby -- and bring us one more merlot for the road." 

I take the money as I turn away. I count it to make sure that it matches what is owed. Something is wrong. I recount the money. Something is still wrong. They have over-paid by $69. One more time, now looking over to Pop-Pop & Cougs. She smiles, putting on her bedazzled black gloves. Pop-Pop smiles and gives me a long wink. I feel dirty. I return the smile. 

As they get up to leave, Pop-pop shakes my hand. Something is wrong. His hand is scratchy. I then realize it is not his hand, but the $20 bill inside his hand that is scratchy. 

Pop-pop G: "For the Patron, baby. We'll be in touch."

Conclusion: after my shift ended, I went to our local bar with fellow servers. I waited by my phone all night, like a pimply, tenth-grade hopeful, three days before Homecoming. They never called for their Maid of Honor. I will survive; Pop-pop Geno said he's Manhattan's Godfather... and he'll be back for more Patron.

Can I get you a Floridian cougar to manage your financial investments?