Most of the older waitresses avoided his corner booth like the plague, but I really didn’t mind serving him. He was quiet, didn’t try to make annoying small talk, and quiet stability was exactly what my chaotic life desperately lacked right now.
One rainy Tuesday morning at two o’clock, I was absolutely exhausted. My feet throbbed in my cheap sneakers, my eyes burned from the fluorescent lights, and my latest loan rejection letter had somehow slipped out of my apron pocket onto the sticky linoleum floor.
I didn’t notice it was gone until I turned around and saw Mr. Gideon holding the crumpled piece of paper. He was squinting through his thick glasses at the bold red text at the top of the page.
I rushed over, my cheeks burning with intense humiliation. “I am so incredibly sorry, sir, that fell out of my pocket.”
He didn’t hand it back immediately. He just stared at me, his bushy gray eyebrows knitting together in deep concentration. “An eighteen percent interest rate? For a standard two-year nursing program? Are you entirely out of your mind, kid?”
