Da Goddess

Smiley

There was a time when I worked at a pizza joint. I started in high school and I worked a lot of hours.

One of our regulars, beyond the little league/softball/soccer teams, was an older man. He came in every Saturday, without fail. He had a scowl plastered on his face. You know, the kind that made him look as though he were trying to pass a humongous sour lemon turd. Think constipate Clint Eastwood, without the rugged good looks. That was Smiley. Well, that's what I called him.

Never having been one to just let things be, it became my personal challenge to see if I couldn't elicit a grin from the man. I would attempt to engage him in conversation at every opportunity. Sometimes he'd actually say something beyond his usual, "gimme a black beer." Still, no smile.

Around this same time I had gone back to help out a family for whom I'd been a nanny for two years. I babysat the twins while they were between gals and got in the habit of correcting the boys' manners. Per their mom's request, I'd threaten them with spankings for large infractions (but, I'd have to do it in Hebrew, the official language of punishment in their home) and chase after them as if I really meant it. I also got into the habit of finishing their sentences with "please" and "thank you."

After working with the twins, daily, for a month and a half, it was no surprise that I started correcting everyone else. One Saturday, Smiley walked in. I was tired. Really tired. He stepped up to the counter and grumbled, "gimme a black beer" to which I added, "please." He about bust a gut with that one. Not only did I get a smile, the man was laughing his ass off. I hadn't realized what I'd done. I just knew that I had Smiley smiling and laughing. My first thought was that I must be bleeding profusely from some appendage.

"That was a good one," Smiley said.

"What was?" I asked.

"'Please.'"

"I didn't just say that, did I?"

"You sure did!" He replied, while wiping tears from his eyes.

"Oh....my......I...I.......I....I'm sorry!"

"No, no. Don't be sorry. That was the first time someone's reminded me to be polite since I was 10. Thank you."

I was dumbfounded. And, I was pleased. I made the old sourpuss smile.

I discovered that he'd come in and have his "black beer" while waiting for his wife to have her hair done. He told me that he hated having to drag her up to the beauty parlor. He was resentful that she'd never learned to drive. Still, he said he was glad to have some time to himself after dropping her off and savored that beer as he could have none at home. Forty plus years of marriage without beer in the house. Yeah, I'd think I'd stop smiling, too.

Later, I would become the only person to whom he'd speak or smile. I kinda liked that. He was my sourpuss.

Thanks to Fred for reminding me about Smiley.

Posted by DaGoddess at June 30, 2003 05:03 PM