It's Taken Care Of

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In the middle of a crowded restaurant in Brunswick, Maine, I sat alone with my copy of the USA Today.

I've never felt weird eating by myself.

It's part of the gig.

I ordered.

Nothing, fancy.

I was in Maine so I had a lobster roll, but it wasn't overly expensive.

In fact, it didn't cost me a dime!

I have to take you back a little bit.

As I entered the restaurant I walked by a table that was occupied by two thirty-something women.

One of them waved at me.

I wondered if there was something wrong with her.

I was wearing the fleece I had checked the construction jobs along with a pair of jeans that are pretty worn.

As I was eating my salad, one of the women turned and laughed.

They were a good three tables away, so while it was curious, I didn't give it a second thought.

I was reading about the NBA All-Star game.

I never looked up again.

They left.

A little while later, I was getting agitated.

"Can I get the check?"

"Those women paid it for you," she said.

"What? Why??"

"I don't know," she said.

I might have asked again:

"Why?"

The waitress shrugged.

You wanna' know the bad news?

I thought that it couldn't be possible.

Why would someone be nice to me for no reason?

I was looking over my shoulder as I went to the parking lot and got behind the wheel of the rental car.

Nothing suspicious.

I called my beautiful wife.

"Could they have recognized you from your books?" she asked.

(That has actually happened to me before).

"Wouldn't they say something?" I asked. "Maybe they thought I was strikingly handsome."

"They probably thought you were homeless."

My wife is a great fan of mine.

Whatever.

It freaked me out a little.

Thank you, ladies!

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