Memories of MLK days gone by

Well, two in particular.

Scene: Int. Santa Monica restaurant. Day.

Me, hostess.
Her, slightly-off regular customer. (Okay no, but seriously. Like, she used to rock and order cheesecake for breakfast and I would often wonder why she wasn’t there with a caretaker.)

Her: Why are you working today?
Me: Because it’s Monday and I work Monday-Thursday.
Her: Oh, but you shouldn’t be working today. It’s your day.
Me: What?
Her: You know. It’s Martin Luther King’s birthday. You should be at that parade on Crenshaw.
Me: *Blank stare*
Me: *Blank stare*
Me: *Blank stare*
Me: Okay, first of all, it’s not my day, it’s everyone’s day. Martin Luther King doesn’t belong to me. Second of all, where I “should be” is at work because going to a parade doesn’t pay my bills.
Her: But you should–
Me: Let me get your server.

Another time I did actually go to the parade and had the best veggie dog of my life.

In other news,

About J.

A former twentysomething with a head full of curls and heart full of questions wondering: when we get to nirvana, will there be food?
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