Another Chance at Life
As I sat at the Toast House, (no shit, that's the name of the little diner) I watched Beatrice walk toward me, a tall slender gal. Tall by women's standards at 5' 9", a well proportioned figure, silky brown hair, long and nearly always in a pony tail, tits that matched her body, I figured a solid B cup, narrow hips, a little meat on her ass but not pudgy, and of course, long slender legs. To me there's a difference between slender and skinny, slender has some meat on the bones, skinny typically doesn't. Soft facial features, bright blue eyes that seemed to twinkle when she smiled and always lipstick of some shade.
"Evenin Clyde."
"Evenin Beatrice. You look good. New hair?"
"It's Berty. Nobody calls me Beatrice except my ma, and you. Yeah I had some highlights added, it's the rage you know, not sure if I like it or not."
"I like the new hair, and the new lipstick. What's the special tonight?"
"You don't miss a thing do you Clyde, flattery will get you everywhere in my world. Oh yeah, special is meatloaf with mashed potatoes and a veg. I already put your order in, you're as predictable as the clock."
Of course it was meatloaf, today was Thursday and it's meatloaf every Thursday, tomorrow it'll be fish fry, Saturday it's a mushroom burger, Sunday it's oven roasted chicken. Considering I eat my evening meal here every day, I guess I should know the menu by now. Over the past year since arriving in town I'd been to Denny's, Perkins, I-Hop, KFC banquet, Olive Garden, and all the rest, never feeling like anything more than table number whatever.
I stumbled into the Toast House quite by accident after looking for faucet repair parts at Lowes. I'd not been to this part of town before and as I was leaving the parking lot, I noticed the sign in a little strip mall. Being mid-day on a Saturday I thought what the hell, I have nothing to lose. As I sat the waitress was there immediately, all the greetings, water and niceties you're supposed to get when you enter a diner. The gal was mid-twenties, short and chubby, hair in a bun, sweet personality and a cute face, I noticed the wedding ring and figured she was a mommy doing her part to keep the home fires burning. I reminded myself to be sure and tip her well.
As I checked out I mentioned to the lady that in the past I had listened to an NPR program on Saturday evenings called the Prairie Home Companion, and one of the spoof advertisements was a place called the Toast House, next to the Sidetrack Tap. Down the street from Bobs bank and Ralphs pretty good groceries. The older gal laughed telling me that had been the impetus for the name when she and her husband opened the diner 26 years ago.
"Is your husband the cook?" I asked.
"He was, he went to the big toast house in the sky a little over three years ago. Beatrice runs the front and our oldest son runs the kitchen now. You have a great day sir and please come back."
It was a mile or two out of my way, but I made it my go to place for supper every day. I ate breakfast at home and seldom ate more than a few Ritz crackers for lunch, so by the time I rolled in there a bit after five I was usually quite hungry. The first time I stopped in for supper I met Berty and instantly liked her. She had a bubbly personality, never wrote an order down but always had it right when the plate hit the table. Unlike most southern waitresses where everyone is hon, shug,(short for sugar), darlin, or baby, her first time greeting was, "Hi, I'm Berty, how you like me so far?" I damned near fell off the chair I was laughing so hard.
"I guess I like you just fine Beatrice."
"Never mind the nametag, everybody calls me Berty. And you, what does your mama call you?"
"When she was alive, she called me Clyde."
She winced and made a face, "Oowee, and I thought my mama was cruel naming me Beatrice, your mama must have been pissed when she named you that."
"Well, it was my great grandfathers name, so I can't bitch about it can I."
Over the months following it was the same almost every night except Saturdays and Sundays when Berty wasn't there. I learned over time that she was the oldest daughter of the owners, lost her husband in Iraq and had no children. I thought her to be in her late 30's but had never asked. On an extremely slow Tuesday the place was nearly dead due to nasty weather, I have a 4-wheel drive pickup, having been raised in the north where we had lots of ice and snow I wasn't all that concerned. When Berty brought my supper, she sat across from me with a cup of coffee.
With a chuckle she said, "So Clyde,..... God I can't get over that name,..... what brought to Clarkesville? Aint much here but the Army base with lots of horny young GI's. Nashville's 40 minutes away so we get some of the bedroom community stuff, but that don't amount to much."
With no other customers she sent the chubby gal home to beat the weather and we simply talked. Once my meal was done, she refilled our coffee and settled back like she had nothing else in the world to do.
"Are you sure you want to hear my sordid mess of a life story? It aint pretty." She nodded as she smiled.
I began explaining all the details of how a two-time loser ended up in Clarkesville. I'd married my high school sweetheart upon our graduating, quickly realizing that married life is in a different universe than high school dating. We didn't last two years before calling it quits, parting amicably and to this day talk politely to one another at high school reunions. Ironically neither of us considered it a marriage, more like a huge mistake. I decided to enter college getting a BS in accounting, and as if that wasn't enough, I went on to get an MS, (more of the same). Being an absolute glutton for punishment I eventually acquired my PHD, better known as piled higher and deeper.
After attaining my bachelor's, I remarried and had two kids. With student loans to pay on top of everything else life brings I found myself working unrealistic hours, telling myself that all the time I was away from my family it was for them. I missed all my kid's functions, I don't think my wife and I made love more once a week if that, my business and attaining wealth had blinded me to the needs of my family. I equated having money in the bank and being able to buy whatever they wanted as showing my love for them.
It all came to a screeching halt when my wife told me that with the kids in college, she wasn't going to do this anymore. She was filing for divorce and that I'd be served within a few days, I ask that she have it done at our home and I'd make sure I was there, which I was. She wasn't interested in counseling and I knew I couldn't fault her, it had been me who neglected she and our kids to the point I nearly missed our daughters high school graduation.
When we parted, we tried being as civil as possible, the house was paid for, she would keep that, we'd split everything we had in savings and checking, I'd be able to keep the business and all my retirement. Both the vehicles were paid for and we put enough money into a separate education account to pay the kids tuition for the remainder of their studies, if they dropped out the money left over would be split between us.
Within a year she'd met and had moved in with a guy, very nice man, I'd met him at a birthday party for our son. I watched as he paid attention to Clarice and doted over her, the things I had failed to do, vowing if the opportunity for love ever came around again, I wouldn't make the same mistake. When she decided to sell the house, she came to me for input. Her boyfriend was financially secure, I suggested she set up a separate account in her name only, then if for some unknown reason it didn't work out, she was still financially stable. That's also when I told her I was going to sell the business and move somewhere warmer, wasn't sure where yet, but it was going to happen as soon as I could sell.
Having one of the largest financial firms in the town it didn't take long to have an offer from another finance company in the next city, the only thing that had prevented them from opening an office in our city was my firm. I didn't walk away a multi-millionaire, by the time the state and feds got through stealing their share of the money they'd never worked for and I'd already paid taxes on I was left with 1.1 mil. It sounds like a ton of money, but in todays business climate it doesn't amount to much or last very long. You might say, well I was a finance guy, why didn't I find a way to hide it? If it's a small enough amount you can, if it's bigger they want their cut and will hunt you down like a rabid dog. I wanted to walk away clean, not be dodging the IRS for decades.
I looked at franchises, hoping to find something I could be active in, make a profit, and not have to work 14 hours a day six days a week. I finally settled on a Mail Box business, the next thing to do was find a city without one. I lucked out with this location, the previous store hadn't lasted two years and shut down. When I researched it, I came to realize it was something a guy bought for his wife, it was making money, so the market was there, except she didn't want to work, she only wanted to manage. It didn't take long for the overhead of four employees to sink their boat.
I bought the building, the franchise, and named the place Mailbox Plus, I'm also a drop off for FedEx and UPS as well as boxing and shipping along with normal mailing functions. The store has sixty mailboxes accessible 24 hours a day in a locked lobby apart from the store entrance. I work eight hours a day most of the time and have three part time employees, all college kids. The business is showing a profit and I still have the greater portion of my 1.1 mil in the bank.
After bending her ear for over an hour she shook her head and grinned.
"And I thought my life was screwed up. Nothing I've ever done can top that, or even come close."
With no business and the weather getting worse she decided to close early ushering me out the door, I told her I'd see her tomorrow as we parted. Traveling home I found myself thinking she was not only a pretty nice lady, she was a pretty lady. Kudos to her for sitting and listening to me rant for over an hour. If she didn't work weekends, maybe she'd be available for a date, I'd have to tread lightly, I didn't want to mess up a friendship.
Unlike so many mailbox stores and the post office who generally open at nine, I opened at eight. From opening until one o'clock was our busiest time of day, and with the business came the drama. I hear people in business talk all the time about going out and getting more customers, without taking into account the more customers you have the more drama there is.
My dad had been the pastor of a church about 100 strong for over thirty years, when traveling ministers would be in our church, they would ask why he wasn't advertising and seeking more people. My dad had a heart for people who wanted to be helped, but not for those who only want to take up your time and not change for the better, suffering fools was not in his forte. He would look at those traveling minsters and answer with one phrase, "The more sheep you have, the more manure you have."
