There is a little Mexican restaurant named La Cabana where I like to eat lunch on Tuesdays across the river from my house. I have been eating there regularly for a couple of months and have finally figured out the names of all the servers.
Not too long ago, a new server began working at the restaurant and she and I began to form a friendship. Then, a couple of weeks ago, I figured out why I felt an instant connection to the new woman. I found out that she also lost her husband to his midlife crisis. I determined right away that I wanted to give her a copy of my book, Navigating Marital Abandonment, and I put a copy in my car for the next time I saw her.
A week later, my new friend-to-be was not working Tuesday lunch. Not a problem. I just waited another week. The following week, she was again not working Tuesday lunch. I asked and found out she was working evenings on Tuesdays. One more week went by. This time I visited on Monday. Eureka! She was there.
The restaurant was not busy and, although she was not my server, my friend came near enough to my table that we could chat a few times during the course of my meal. On one of those pass-bys just before I was about to leave, I mentioned to her that I wanted to give her a book. She smiled broadly, excitedly thanking me and saying she had just finished a book and asked what my book was about. I kind of have to laugh to myself a little here because she was just so enthused about receiving my book and I had not yet even told her that I was its author. (I just really love people who are so open and full of life.)
I darted out of the restaurant, fetched the book from my back seat, breathed a sigh of relief that it was still there and that I had remembered to affix the bronze award seal to its front cover, then came in to hand it to her. She thanked me and disappeared into the kitchen. I sat back at my table to finish my lunch. Not even one full minute passed before the general manager walked up to my table with the book in his hand.
"Where's mine?" He asked.
I shrugged. "I only had one with me."
My server walked near to see what our conversation was about. He saw the book.
"You wrote this?" He asked, but before I could even answer, he said, "I want one."
I told him to have the library buy one so he could read it. I don't remember the next few words. It was just chatter. But that is when my server pulled out his cell phone, pressed some buttons and handed the phone to his manager.
"Take my picture," he directed, sitting down beside me. "I've never met a celebrity." I smiled for the shot then came home to message my daughter that another group of people believes I am famous. (A notion which she instantly contradicted. Such an unbeliever!)
Note: I did not actually say anything to anybody about myself. I did not claim fame. I just gave a book with my name and picture (and an award seal) on it to a friend I thought might be able to use it.
A few days later, I went back to La Cabana for an unroutine, second visit of the week. (Because I happened to have driven in the wrong direction and wound up doing business nearby. I figured, 'why not?' So I went for a Mexican lunch.)
When I walked in the door, my server from the previous visit immediately greeted me. Menu in hand, he walked me to a short row of booths and asked where I would like to sit. (Usually, I just sit where I am told.) As we walked, he told me that he had looked me up online. I was pleased, but he did not actually read anything about me. He had just looked for my name -- which he found. (He did say, though, that he intends to read my books on his Kindle. I will not hold him to his word, but I will be interested in his input if he keeps it of his own accord.)
After I was seated, the man asked if I wanted my usual diet cola (this is normal, as I always order the same thing), then he went into the kitchen to find the person who would be serving me that day. I heard the name of my book mentioned in muffled tones, then my server appeared with chips and salsa for me. He asked if I wanted my usual water, to which I began to respond, but he corrected himself before I could get the words out of my mouth. I wanted a diet cola.
My server disappeared and came out with my drink. I then placed my order and he disappeared again. Then the manager came over to see me. (Usually he is busily doing other things.) He asked if there was anything I needed. (First time I remember this ever happening.) During my brief lunch, he came back to check on me two more times. The guy who seated me also came back to visit with me a couple of times, and my server, whom I had never before met, did a superb job of seeing to it that my cup was always full.
Wow! All of that for little, old me. (If that is the way Mexicans treat authors, I really need to learn Spanish and move South of the border!) Yes, my writing is usually not too bad, BUT I am virtually unknown and totally broke. Yet in that small oasis of Mexican cuisine and culture, I am Beth Durkee, local celebrity.
Not too long ago, a new server began working at the restaurant and she and I began to form a friendship. Then, a couple of weeks ago, I figured out why I felt an instant connection to the new woman. I found out that she also lost her husband to his midlife crisis. I determined right away that I wanted to give her a copy of my book, Navigating Marital Abandonment, and I put a copy in my car for the next time I saw her.
A week later, my new friend-to-be was not working Tuesday lunch. Not a problem. I just waited another week. The following week, she was again not working Tuesday lunch. I asked and found out she was working evenings on Tuesdays. One more week went by. This time I visited on Monday. Eureka! She was there.
The restaurant was not busy and, although she was not my server, my friend came near enough to my table that we could chat a few times during the course of my meal. On one of those pass-bys just before I was about to leave, I mentioned to her that I wanted to give her a book. She smiled broadly, excitedly thanking me and saying she had just finished a book and asked what my book was about. I kind of have to laugh to myself a little here because she was just so enthused about receiving my book and I had not yet even told her that I was its author. (I just really love people who are so open and full of life.)
I darted out of the restaurant, fetched the book from my back seat, breathed a sigh of relief that it was still there and that I had remembered to affix the bronze award seal to its front cover, then came in to hand it to her. She thanked me and disappeared into the kitchen. I sat back at my table to finish my lunch. Not even one full minute passed before the general manager walked up to my table with the book in his hand.
"Where's mine?" He asked.
I shrugged. "I only had one with me."
My server walked near to see what our conversation was about. He saw the book.
"You wrote this?" He asked, but before I could even answer, he said, "I want one."
I told him to have the library buy one so he could read it. I don't remember the next few words. It was just chatter. But that is when my server pulled out his cell phone, pressed some buttons and handed the phone to his manager.
"Take my picture," he directed, sitting down beside me. "I've never met a celebrity." I smiled for the shot then came home to message my daughter that another group of people believes I am famous. (A notion which she instantly contradicted. Such an unbeliever!)
Note: I did not actually say anything to anybody about myself. I did not claim fame. I just gave a book with my name and picture (and an award seal) on it to a friend I thought might be able to use it.
A few days later, I went back to La Cabana for an unroutine, second visit of the week. (Because I happened to have driven in the wrong direction and wound up doing business nearby. I figured, 'why not?' So I went for a Mexican lunch.)
When I walked in the door, my server from the previous visit immediately greeted me. Menu in hand, he walked me to a short row of booths and asked where I would like to sit. (Usually, I just sit where I am told.) As we walked, he told me that he had looked me up online. I was pleased, but he did not actually read anything about me. He had just looked for my name -- which he found. (He did say, though, that he intends to read my books on his Kindle. I will not hold him to his word, but I will be interested in his input if he keeps it of his own accord.)
After I was seated, the man asked if I wanted my usual diet cola (this is normal, as I always order the same thing), then he went into the kitchen to find the person who would be serving me that day. I heard the name of my book mentioned in muffled tones, then my server appeared with chips and salsa for me. He asked if I wanted my usual water, to which I began to respond, but he corrected himself before I could get the words out of my mouth. I wanted a diet cola.
My server disappeared and came out with my drink. I then placed my order and he disappeared again. Then the manager came over to see me. (Usually he is busily doing other things.) He asked if there was anything I needed. (First time I remember this ever happening.) During my brief lunch, he came back to check on me two more times. The guy who seated me also came back to visit with me a couple of times, and my server, whom I had never before met, did a superb job of seeing to it that my cup was always full.
Wow! All of that for little, old me. (If that is the way Mexicans treat authors, I really need to learn Spanish and move South of the border!) Yes, my writing is usually not too bad, BUT I am virtually unknown and totally broke. Yet in that small oasis of Mexican cuisine and culture, I am Beth Durkee, local celebrity.
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