Sunday, June 22, 2008

Dad, Ruby, Peter the Swiss manager of an Italian restaurant, myself

The situation is that my father, his girlfriend, and I ate at a very nice Italian restaurant. Our reservations were at 7:30, which, in true Fletcher style, turned into 9:00. Nashville is a city that sleeps, but Peter was an interesting character with white hair and a white beard and a nice sense of humor, and wisdom, and truth.

Dad: What's your name, sir?

Peter: Peter.

Dad: We're your last customers, Peter. Sit down! Have a drink!

Peter: Oh, no, no. I don't even drink. I just own the restaurant.

Dad: Where are you from?

Peter: Switzerland.

Ruby: I knew it! I guessed German by your accent. Sorry.

Peter: German!? Oh, no.

Dad: What part?

Peter: The German part.

Me: How did you end up here?

Peter: I'll give you one guess.

Ruby: Love.

Dad: A woman.

Peter: Exactly.

Ruby and I: Awww.

Peter: Yes, well.

Ruby: Are you married to her?

Peter: No.

Dad: Ah.

Peter: We met on a cruise ship... You see, I had to learn the difference between love and lust. I thought I wanted to be with her twenty five hours a day.

Ruby: mhmm.

Peter: But now, I am married, I have children, but I believe that life takes twists and turns.... can I offer you anything else?

Dad: We'd love to see a dessert menu.

Peter: Of course, right away.

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