The Girl from Spain
Tonight at work my last table came in around 8:30, and as I watched the hostess seat me, I counted four grey heads following her. Excellent, I thought. Old people... What are they doing out this late at night? They almost always go home before dark.
As I approached the table I noticed a fifth head I hadn't seen earlier. It was a young woman, about my age, with shoulder-length blonde hair, a soft pink complexion, and large, round, though not unattractive, eyes.
As a server, I see a lot of beautiful women come and go. Usually they're with men. Sometimes they're with their friends. Very, very rarely do I ever see an attractive woman sitting at a table alone. The girl at the table was definitely attractive, but she wasn't gorgeous, or "hot".
All that changed the moment she and her family started talking. They had the most charming European accents, and they spoke in some foreign language I couldn't recognize. At first I thought they were speaking French, then Italian; but finally one of the older ladies mentioned they came all the way over from Spain.
So I had a Spanish girl at my table. From that moment on, I couldn't help but stare at her. I disregarding being polite, and bore into her with my eyes. I wasn't looking at anything naughty, because she was sitting down... No, I was trying valiantly to make eye contact with her but she never held it long enough for me to send that telepathic "zap" of mojo.
For the next forty-five minutes, I fantasized about what life would be like living with her in a villa on the coast of Spain. Lounging around on beach chairs, sipping wine, smoking cigarettes, listening to jazz or Portishead or Morcheeba, reading good books and writing little love poems.
She got up to smoke a cigarette at the bar and I got a chance to really check her out. She was wearing tan corderoy pants and a dark brown sweater made of a light material that hung down over her shoulders. She had a gorgeous body, trim, yet curvy in all the right places. She sat lazily in her barstool and puffed on her cigarette. She didn't say anything to anybody. I wanted to approach her but couldn't think of what to say. "Hi, I'm Billy, I live in Ohio. I think you're hot and sexy because you're from Spain." If anything, it would have ruined the fantasy, and I liked the fantasy. She was probably bored out of mind anyway. What's a poor girl from Spain doing at Outback Steakhouse in Centerville, Ohio? She should be out sailboating off the coast, or smoking cigarettes and drinking rum and cokes in some hazy, dimly-lit club.
She finished her cigarette and sat back down at her table. Shortly after that, they paid their bill and left. They tipped me $17.
I wanted to follow her out the front entrance, grab her arms and swing her into a passionate kiss, like the ones you see in Hollywood movies. Show her that not all American boys are dull boring football jocks who spend all their time drinking beer and playing video games. There are some American boys full of passion, excitement, and a pinch of danger... God, how cheesy... But we're overcompensated with modesty.
Ah, my girl from Spain...
As I approached the table I noticed a fifth head I hadn't seen earlier. It was a young woman, about my age, with shoulder-length blonde hair, a soft pink complexion, and large, round, though not unattractive, eyes.
As a server, I see a lot of beautiful women come and go. Usually they're with men. Sometimes they're with their friends. Very, very rarely do I ever see an attractive woman sitting at a table alone. The girl at the table was definitely attractive, but she wasn't gorgeous, or "hot".
All that changed the moment she and her family started talking. They had the most charming European accents, and they spoke in some foreign language I couldn't recognize. At first I thought they were speaking French, then Italian; but finally one of the older ladies mentioned they came all the way over from Spain.
So I had a Spanish girl at my table. From that moment on, I couldn't help but stare at her. I disregarding being polite, and bore into her with my eyes. I wasn't looking at anything naughty, because she was sitting down... No, I was trying valiantly to make eye contact with her but she never held it long enough for me to send that telepathic "zap" of mojo.
For the next forty-five minutes, I fantasized about what life would be like living with her in a villa on the coast of Spain. Lounging around on beach chairs, sipping wine, smoking cigarettes, listening to jazz or Portishead or Morcheeba, reading good books and writing little love poems.
She got up to smoke a cigarette at the bar and I got a chance to really check her out. She was wearing tan corderoy pants and a dark brown sweater made of a light material that hung down over her shoulders. She had a gorgeous body, trim, yet curvy in all the right places. She sat lazily in her barstool and puffed on her cigarette. She didn't say anything to anybody. I wanted to approach her but couldn't think of what to say. "Hi, I'm Billy, I live in Ohio. I think you're hot and sexy because you're from Spain." If anything, it would have ruined the fantasy, and I liked the fantasy. She was probably bored out of mind anyway. What's a poor girl from Spain doing at Outback Steakhouse in Centerville, Ohio? She should be out sailboating off the coast, or smoking cigarettes and drinking rum and cokes in some hazy, dimly-lit club.
She finished her cigarette and sat back down at her table. Shortly after that, they paid their bill and left. They tipped me $17.
I wanted to follow her out the front entrance, grab her arms and swing her into a passionate kiss, like the ones you see in Hollywood movies. Show her that not all American boys are dull boring football jocks who spend all their time drinking beer and playing video games. There are some American boys full of passion, excitement, and a pinch of danger... God, how cheesy... But we're overcompensated with modesty.
Ah, my girl from Spain...
posted by Billy at 11:03 PM
1 Comments:
ahhh, Billy! You should have kissed the girl :) lol
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