Retirement is all about having the time to try new things. We've recently taken the plunge into the restaurant business. We've opened a bistro. Nothing fancy, just two flower pots and a shepherd's hook, but business has been brisk.
Our patrons all live in the neighborhood. Many of them are natty dressers with a preference for shirts in shades of red. The red shirts are a bossy bunch, preferring to have the place to themselves and are not above bullying the other customers. The management tolerates them as they add a dash of color and character to the establishment, but we like to encourage, and cater to, a diverse clientele.
|A newcomer today --- our fame is spreading.|
|Waiting for a table...|
I was walking by the bistro last evening and the red shirts were swooping by, dangerously close.
Whoa! (I thought) Knock it off. I'm not some big peaceful dove you can push around. Neither am I one of those wee fellows in the grey suits with their black heads and sporty quiffs!
|The cutie in the grey suit|
Well, came the response (I have an active imagination in which I have conversations with birds) You can't expect to be kept on as manager of this joint if the service is as poor as it is tonight!
Oh-oh! I'd forgotten to fill the pots!
Abject apologies sir, I said . I'll speak to the servers right away. And, to make up for the inconvenience, your Eminence, I'll throw in an extra handful of sunflower seeds.
So I did. And this morning there's been a steady stream of customers. Mr. Red Shirt and his harem have been by several times; the little guys in the grey suits with their spiffy quiffs dart in and out; the peaceful doves had a table for a while but scattered when the woodpecker dropped in for a quick bite.
|Size and loudness gets you the best table, quickly.|
We haven't been awarded a Michilin star yet and it's highly unlikely we'll be reviewed in the "Taste" section of the newspaper, but, as we drink our coffee each morning and watch the customers lining up, we're counting our new venture a roaring success.