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His girlfriend kicks him under the table. “Get the fried ice cream.”
He sighs and holds up one finger. “One fried ice cream.”
“One fried ice cream coming right up. And I’ll send over a flan, too. It’s made in house and soooo amazing.”
“Okay. Fine.”
“Also, I think you’ll love the Don Julio 1942. It’s our best extra añejo tequila—aged three years.”
The guy slices his hand across the table. “No, that’s okay.”
“Are you sure? My very wealthy friend over there is buying. For your troubles.”
“For your troubles, Mike.” His girlfriend knows a good deal when she sees it.
Mike sighs. “Okay. Sure. Tell him… thanks.”
“You got it.”
If I had to guess, the guy is mortified about the bathroom situation, while his girlfriend has been scolding him for letting the Beanie Baby go.
I put the order in on the POS system, then go over to find Rosa to tell her what’s going on. She doesn’t look as surprised as I thought she would. She just raises an eyebrow.
“Never a dull day at Dos Panchos,” she says. “I’ll get the desserts. You bring the tequila.”
When I get to the bar, Josh has the three shots ready in adorable snifter glasses and is totally impressed. “Nice upsell,” he says. “How did you manage that?”
I shrug. “I know a thing or two about tequila.”
Loading the snifters on my tray, I drop two off for Mike and his girlfriend, and then take the other to Tom. He invites me to sit with him for a minute, and as I lower myself on the booth seat across from him, he lifts his glass to toast Mike across the room. I turn around to see Mike raise his glass back at Tom and takes a sip.
“That was generous of you to pay for his meal,” I say. “The tequila was a nice touch, but I think he would have been happy with just the food.”
“Yeah, well… I scared the you-know-what out of him. He needs the drink more than me.”
“You’re probably right. Chocolate cake is my comfort food, but I can see how one little shot of tequila would calm someone’s nerves.”
“It more than calms your nerves. This is the best tequila I’ve ever had. It’s almost like bourbon.”
“It’s aged in oak whisky barrels,” I say, so proud of my new knowledge of the aging process. If only Ignacio could see me now.
“So I have a question,” he says, swirling the liquid around in his snifter. “Is blue agave really blue?”
“You know what, Tom? That is an excellent question.”
I can’t wait to tell Ignacio.
* * *
At the end of my shift, I’m finishing my close-out at one of the corner booths, setting aside the tip-out money for Roberto, my favorite busboy.
He’s a rail-thin man in his mid-thirties with the most gigantic smile I’ve ever seen. And he’s insane-level fast. Every time I turn around, he’s there, swooping in to clear plates, wipe tables, refill drinks, you name it. He’s constantly cracking jokes, making everybody laugh, and he just makes the day go by quicker.
I portion a few extra bucks for him, not only because he’s an amazing busser, but because his wife just had a baby. Rosa tells me as soon as Roberto leaves his shift at Dos Panchos, he rides his bike to the Sizzler to work a night shift. I only wish I could give him more.
I clip all my piles of receipts separately and stuff them in my server book. I’m deciding between trying the enchiladas or quesadilla today for my one free meal when Ignacio slides into the booth with two plates. He sets one of them in front of me, sets down two silverware settings, and does his sign of the cross thing. I watch as he mumbles a prayer followed by another cross gesture. When he opens his eyes, he catches me just staring at him.
“What?”
