several years ago, i managed a colorado restaurant. one particular evening, around dusk, customers filled the dining room despite the heavy falling snow. several staff members were unable to get to work due to the weather. as a result i waited on tables, too.
the few waiters and waitresses complained that the man was a waste of time and flipped a quarter to see who would lose and have to serve him.
“good evening sir,” i said as i looked into the tired, dark eyes of the man.
the man removed his coat, tapped the wine label on the list and i leaned into see exactly which beaujolais the man wanted. the odor 