Tiny champagne bubbles are what got me to where I am today. My first exposure to this high-class wine was my mother shrieking in the back seat of our family car. We’re on our way home from my cousin’s wedding where Mom decided she would have her first taste of real champagne. Three glasses later, it’s time for our long drive home. Mom is so dizzy, she thinks Dad is driving in circles. Her demand to pull over and let her out is followed by her upchucking into her nice new hat. “Never again” she says. So why would anyone want to drink champagne?
Next day, after being turned down for the fourth time for a job as waitress, I need something positive to get me out of this funky mood. So I flop down on my one ratty lawn chair that sits on my mini-deck. In my neighbor’s yard, I see enormous new bright pink cherry blossoms. Well, that’s cause for celebration. For six months now, I’ve been saving that bottle of sparkling champagne from my last birthday, always wondering if it’s as bad as my dear old Mom made it look. But since the tv commercial seemed to say that champagne is directly linked to happiness, I think I’ll give it a try. After all, if I have just one little glass, really a paper cup, I’ll have plenty left for when I get that next job. I assume champagne is like vintage red wine, and it gets better with age.
My mind wanders as I sip floating bubbles, and imagine the sweet scent of those cherry blossoms. I’m sure my neighbor, Mr. Butters, wouldn’t miss one little branch if he knew what joy it would bring me. I better make a mad dash so my champagne stays chilled. Now why did Mr. Butters need to lock his rickety old gate that leads to his yard? I bet he hasn’t opened it in years since it appears to be rusted shut. “Where there’s a will there’s a way” I remember dear old Mom saying every time I refused her unthinkable requests. So I take a giant leap, and over I go. Actually the plush grass feels kind of smooth on my face, and the scent of the cherry blossoms is amazing. I quickly reach the prettiest branch and wrestle it down. Wish I remembered to bring scissors. Anyhow, as I swoop down to pick up the leftover petals, I see what appears to be an unfriendly bulldog staring at me. “Hi nice puppy” I try to calmly say as I scoot away from him. How in the world I manage to kick open that old gate is beyond me. I take off running, cherry blossoms in hand, like I’m in a marathon. Maybe good thing I forgot the scissors.
Back on my deck I convince myself that no harm has been done, and I should get back to savoring my bubbles and blossoms. Next time I need to buy bigger paper cups. After three or four sips, I’m feeling just a tinge guilty about what some might consider to be an act of stealing flowers, not to mention probably destroying an old gate. So I decide I’ll give away my treasure, not my champagne, of course, but a tiny bouquet of blossoms is sure to make someone else very happy.
Out the door I go just in time to see Mr. Butters frantically running up and down the street yelling “here Bruno.” That’s when I see the sly old bulldog hiding under the stairs. I quickly run up to Mr. Butters and tell him I found his dog which makes him very happy. “Susie, you’re a Saint” he says as I take off. Good thing he didn’t see the cherry blossoms behind my back.
On the next block I see a homeless man sitting on a park bench. Wish I thought to bring along my leftover spaghetti and meatballs. So I pretend to be running in place, like I’ve seen those marathoners do while waiting for traffic to stop. “Wish I had more to give you, I stammer, but hope these little cherry blossoms brighten your day.” “You’re a Saint” he replies.
Well now my head is really spinning. Being told twice in one night that I’m a saint seems a bit much. But if two people say something, does that make it true? In thinking about it, I realize what I did to Mr. Butters property was more devilish than saintly, and giving away a stolen blossom sure won’t get me through those pearly gates. I think it’s time I do a little soul searching if I want to live up to my new reputation. Perhaps another sip of champagne will help.
At 7 am, I’m wide awake, wishing I could forget that nasty dream about a gathering of fierce bulldogs. I never really paid any attention to dogs, which is probably why I didn’t know that my next-door neighbor, Bruno, even existed. Well, now it’s time for breakfast, and I’m remembering that if I add a bit of orange juiice to the remnants of my champagne, I will have a mimosa. That, along with a jumbo chocolate donut, gets my day off to a great start.
I’ve got a feeling today is when I’m going to find the perfect job. After Mr. Butters and the homeless guy called me a Saint, I decide I’m going to look for work where I can be serving many others. The first position I see listed in last Sunday’s newspaper is for a waitress who is service-oriented. Well, that sounds like me! I figure my six months of experience is probably equal to about two years if you consider all the times when I stayed after hours to chat with the servers who were dealing with personal problems. Appears I’m the perfect fit for this one, and after a quick call, I have an interview at 1 o’clock today at a place called Sam’s. Gives me time to uncurl my hair and go in for a mini-manicure. I know how important it is to have a good appearance when serving the public.
The sign above the restaurant reads “Sam’s Slippery Saloon.” I might make a suggestion they just call the place Slippery’s because you never know when Sam will decide to leave. The inside looks more like a bar than a place for a nice steak dinner, but I’ll save that idea for after I’m hired. Sam greets me with a big smile as he pumps my hand a bit much. He reminds me of an old cowboy I once saw on the late night movies. I’ve hardly even told him about all of my experience and how I enjoy the service industry when he offers me the job. And before leaving he says “Susie, you’re the Saint I’ve been looking for.”
I figure I need to stop on my way home to replenish that bottle of champagne now that I have the start of a new career ahead of me. Was glad the guy in the liquor store agreed that sparkling wine works as well as champagne if your budget is under ten dollars. I can’t wait to get home and call Mom with my good news. She wanted me to be a doctor but when I reminded her how I faint every time I see blood, she seemed to accept my choice of working in the service industry. She said she never heard of “Slippery’s” but thought that Sam sounded like a pleasant gentleman. I told her I was sipping champagne as we talked, but that reminded her of that awful night when she destroyed her nice new hat. After that, I decided to save my stories about how everyone was calling me a Saint until she was in a better mood.
No problem rising and shining on my first day of work at Slippery’s. Wish I would have asked about the dress code or if I will be given a uniform. Kind of hoping it includes one of those black shiny aprons with lots of pockets. Sam was wearing jeans and a denim shirt, but it probably was his day off, and he came in just to interview me. I think I’ll go with a professional look and wear my spiked heels with my tie-dye dress. The lady who sold me those shoes said they would do the trick no matter where I went.
The place looks busy when I arrive at 10 am, but it appears breakfast is over since customers only seem to be having before-lunch-cocktails. Sam greets me with another big smile and says how happy he is I’m here. When I ask about training, he winks and tells me he is confident I’ll figure out what needs to be done. Well, isn’t that a vote of confidence! During the next six hours Sam is taking all the orders, and I’m simply serving drinks. Must be they ran out of food today. I forgot how torturous it is to wear spiked heels for hours without a break. So I was thrilled when Sam said I was free to pack up for the day. All I brought was a tiny purse, so it didn’t take long to be on my way. Since Sam was so busy fixing drinks all day, I didn’t have a chance to share any of my ideas or find out what their specialties are each day. Tomorrow will be soon enough to learn more about my new career, and tonight seems like cause to celebrate, while soaking my feet.
On the way home, I decide to stroll through the park since it’s almost on the way. Thought I’d see if that homeless guy is still there. Imagine giving a friendly smile to someone who is homeless is what a saint would do. And you probably earn extra halo points if smiling while your feet are killing you. Sure enough, I see him just as he glances my way. Can’t tell if he remembers me. So I think a simple hello is all I need do until he replies “excuse me young lady.”
Well, what a polite man! I stop as he begins to tell me he is worried about a little duck that has been limping each time it gets out of the pond. He named him Quackers and feels so bad he has no way to help him. Not being a knowledgeable duck person, I’m not sure what to do, but I know a real saint wouldn’t ignore any request. So I suggest we start brainstorming, which is a technique I learned in school for whenever you need to find an answer. We can only come up with two options. I could ask my Manager, Sam, if he would rescue Quackers, or I could come back with a box and bring Quackers home with me. I’m a bit hesitant to ask Sam, so I promise to come back the next day with a box. As I walk away, once again I hear those magical words, “You are a Saint!”
Can’t believe how good it feels to kick off those stilettos. I think the salesperson may have been exaggerating when she said they are comfy as walking on pillows. But before I get too relaxed, I better find that box for Quackers. Maybe those shoes were a good purchase since it’s my only box. I’m feeling kind of good now, aside from my aching feet, to know I’m helping the homeless and giving a home to a duck in need. Calls for a little cup of champagne.
I’ve been sleeping so well the last two nights, I think I should tell those champagne makers to add a note to their bottles about this unexpected benefit. Don’t know how I forgot to set my alarm, and I know a saint would never be late for work. So I grab the first thing I see in my closet which happens to be the red velvet dress that I wore to my cousin’s wedding. Nothing wrong with impressing customers with my good taste. Off I go and then I remember that I need to bring my shoe box for Quakers. Good thing I passed on the stilettos today! Still I need to hustle because I don’t want Sam to think I’m a latecomer.
Today is a lot like yesterday. Customers are always thirsty and never hungry. Wish I could get a little time with Sam to better understand this place but he is always busy. Probably wise I didn’t ask him to adopt Quackers. Before I know it, the clock chimes 5, and I give a big wave to Sam who is always talking to the female customers. He even serves them their drinks, which is technically my job, but I decided I won’t complain.
My mission now is to get Quakers to agree to come home with me, so I can eliminate the worries of Mr. Homeless. As I enter the park, I see a large group of ducks and wonder if Quackers might be among them. My homeless friend has a big toothless grin when I ask about our furry friend. He says that Quackers was mysteriously healed and now has gone to join his family. Well, I don’t think I can take credit for that but it sure is cause for celebration! Before I can ask Mr. Homeless to join me for a tiny glass of bubbles, he tells me his brother is on his way to pick him up, and he won’t be living in the park anymore. He says that both he and Quackers are now reunited with loved ones. I’m kind of sorry to see him go because I thought he was helping me to become more saintly, but all good things must end someday!
Next day at Slippery’s I’m surprised when Sam says he must leave for about an hour, and I need to take over while he’s gone. Before I know it, he is out the door. Business is pretty slow today, so I spend my time re-arranging all the glasses until two rather large gentlemen walk in. They sit at the bar and ask for today’s special. I don’t want to admit I have no idea how to make a drink, let alone what the special is that Sam had planned. But since I’m in charge, I decide to grab the first two bottles I see. One says Tequila and the other Bourbon. Of course, I know you have to add ice cubes to fill up the glass. And then it comes to me. Since they want a “special” drink, I add some champagne, since that makes everything special, and I then I put a little cherry on top. After taking a big swig, they are grinning and ask “what’s the name of this drink?” I have to think quick and reply “it’s called the Champagne Saint.”
Ten days later I walk into Slippery’s and can’t believe what I see. TV cameras and reporters are everywhere. Sam invites me to join him behind the bar where he announces that I created the winning drink-of-the-year. He whispers that he didn’t want to tell me how he entered the Champagne Saint into the statewide tournament. In the back of the room I’m shocked to see dear old Mom and Mr. Butters waving at me. I’m secretly hoping Bruno wasn’t invited. When they ask what I plan to do with my winnings of six bottles of champagne, I quickly make a little heart sign with my hands and reply “I will give all of them to the homeless.”
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