I know it’s usually not a great idea to talk to strangers.
But I do it all the time.
Some of the best things have come from talking to a total strangers. Rides from the airport, great tips about restaurants, my last blog post, a husband (or two), fabulous off-the-beaten-path travel suggestions…
You get the idea.
So last week I was talking to this guy next to me at the teller window of our bank.
Truth be told, I was actually joking around with the teller. When she asked if there was anything more that she could do for me, I joshed and said that I wished that she could add a few more zeros onto my deposit.
The guy next to me heard what I had said to her and laughed. “My teller just did that for me,” he teased.
Everyone laughed.
“Jamie Dimon is not going to like that. He’d be very mad at her. He’s not Mr. Nice Guy. But I’d like some of his money,” I rejoindered. (I bank at Chase.)
“You’re not kidding,” he agreed. “But he hung tough in 2008.”
“Yeah, he’s a tough guy, alright,” I went on. But he got rid of my change-counting machine. What a gyp!”
The guy next to me laughed again.
“You’re right. That’s too bad. I have a restaurant right here in the neighborhood and I’m always bringing in change. I bet Chase would love me to stop.”
“You really have a restaurant here? What’s it called?” I asked.
“Bob’s El Stop. I’m Bob Corbett.”
“Bob’s El Stop!” I exclaimed. “I’ve been there! It’s good. My boyfriend is all about the char so I took him there last summer.”
“I thought you looked familiar. Why don’t you come in and I’ll buy you lunch. A burger on the house.”
“Wow! That’s so nice of you, Bob. As a matter of fact, I have some new relish I bought and I’m dying to try it on a charburger. I have to do some errands this morning but can I come in today?”
“Absolutely!”
So I went back home, threw some relish in a container into my bag, did my thing on Michigan Avenue and took a Via back to Wellington and Sheffield.
Bob was working the grill with aplomb.
“I’m here. And I brought my relish!” I sang out.
“What will you have? A burger? Do you want cheese on that?” Bob was raring to go.
“No cheese. But here’s what I want. Everything else. I want mayo, grilled onions, a little mustard, relish, and do you have round pickles?”
“We have both kinds. Pickle chips for the hamburgers, pickle spears for the dogs.”
“Give me the round ones then.”
“How many?” asked Gracious Host Bob
“Three.”
“Three’s the perfect number,” the burger maestro concurred. “Fries with that?”
“Yep. And a small Diet Coke.”
I gathered some utensils, sat down at a table and opened my relish.
In a flash, Bob brought over a delicious-looking basket of hamburger heaven.
“I hope it’s done to your liking. It’s medium. You know I’m much better at timing cheeseburgers than the hamburgers. Twenty times to one they order cheeseburgers.”
Hmmm. I never knew that. Interesting fact.
And then I took a bite.
The chef waited expectantly.
Yum.
Bob beamed with pride.
(As well he should have.)
It was terrific.
Sometimes, it pays to talk to strangers.
There might be a great burger in it.
P.S. I’m off this Sunday, Dear Readers. I’m going to be in Boston attending a VIP (very important party) for my granddaughter Carly’s first birthday.
See you when I get back.
Now can I take your order?
Oh my, your granddaughter, Carly, is as cute as her brother. Have a wonderful time in Boston and have lots of fun with your grandchildren. My oldest granddaughter lives there while she attends Wellesley as a freshman. I’ll be waiting to hear all about everyone you talked to at the airport and on the airplane.
Thanks, Susan. And why am I not surprised that you have a smart and talented granddaughter? I’m on the Wellesley campus all the time and how I’m impressed with those young women! They truly are our future.