discount stuff.

There is a large consignment boutique around the corner from the coffee shop where I work that sells all kinds of high-end discount home furnishings. From the name, you'd expect the owner to be a high-energy middle-aged woman that's all airbrushed with liquid foundation and bright red lip liner.  I did think that, I confess, until one day early this summer when the owner stepped into my own place of employment to order a cappuccino.  

I really thought he was a bit of a tool at first when he elbowed up on the counter and affectionately referred to my boss as "darling" with a wink.  But I was wrong and by the time he had ordered his drink and paid for it, leaving a buck in the tip jar, he'd won my heart.  He is a five-foot-four beach-bum has-been.  His voice is a combination of Marty McFly and Arnold Schwarzeneger with a New York accent and he can hardly blink without flirting but his heart is solid gold and he's a great tipper.  

We bump into each other outside of his shop one evening as he's locking it up.  I mention that I should come in some time, I've never seen his stuff.  This, I quickly realize, is a very innocently stupid thing to say because of course he invites me in for a private screening of his store--a less than ideal scenario.  But with no real reason or excuse to back out, I follow him in.  He shows me his merchandise--beautiful furniture and china, old books and candelabras. Really neat antique stuff, and he tells me that when I have to furnish my house I should come back and he'll give the "family discount."  He is a class act and preciously genuine at the same time.  He calls me "sweet angel"--did I mention that?

As I'm leaving he starts telling me about his current girlfriend (my "aww, maybe he really is just a good guy" sentiments starting to leak out like air conditioning from a cracked window).  She is thirteen years younger, looks like a Barbie.  But shoot, he says, she wants to get married.  He doesn't want to.  "Because after the sex," he says, "what do we have in common?"  He laughs and shakes his head.  "I just want to fish with the fellas--I been married. I been there, I don't wanna go back."  I shake my head too, at a literal loss for words.  We don't think the same way about realtionships. He know's I'm getting married soon--he says he thinks we're young, but that it'll probably work out--perhaps a lie?  He says "as long as your in love..."  I assure him that we are.  I know he probably doesn't think my marriage will last, but I'm pretty sure he sincerely hopes for the best.

I tell him my last day at the coffee shop is Tuesday and he promises to come in.  He'll order his cappuccino and leave a dollar, promising I'll always get the family discount.