I am a man, with a plan. Ok, that's about as cool as "We have a need for speed," but I'm trying. The fact is that I am a man, and well, yes I—or we, MyUnwife and I—have a plan. It's a good plan. Well maybe not good, but it's definite in purpose. A good stand for a plan. A good stand for a man, and his Unwife, with a plan. We plan on divorcing. When two great minds are aligned, nothing can stand in their way.
When MyUnwife and I are aligned, the world extends a middle finger and flicks boogers. Our marriage was filled with more misadventures than a Three Stooges short. Apparently so is our divorce. We just can't appreciate it if we don't dodge-dance life boogers for it.
This week's goal: get somebody to serve Rob paperwork. It sounds simple, right? Person "A" steps in, takes paperwork "B" from MyUnwife, and hands it to Rob. Poof! "I want a divorce." Decree "C" is made.
Sounds simple right? It's not. It's playing Taboo. Your word is "iPod". You can't say Apple, MP3, Music, or insidious device provided to enslave the masses to the will of the corporate monster. Go! Not easy huh? Her friends think I'm gonna cry, my friends think it's best to live out of state. If we'd worked this a week earlier, I could have brought it to my writers' group. That would have been fun.
"Your story is plotless and self indulgent, now will you serve me?"
Sigh…
As in all other divorce questions, there are no easy answers. Looking for a resolution, we hold a Bluetooth caucus.
"So I was thinking," She says, "We need a notary, why not have them hand you the paperwork?"
"Sounds good to me."
"Ok, I'll call and see."
I think I had enough time to Google myself, and the phone rings again. I press the button on my trendy ear piece. "Yeah?"
"She won't do it."
"What?"
"Nope, won't do it. Her words: We don't do that."
"Just like that? Same tone? Like we're asking her to do a donkey show?"
"Yep. Any other ideas?"
"I see…Well there's our mortgage broker. He's got a notary, I can ask him if he'll do it."
There's a moment of silence, "Well, that would work." She likes the idea.
I don't. It'll work, but I hate to enslave myself further to my mortgage broker. He's a nice guy, but not the first nice guy to offer me a drink and then turn all weird later. Ok, that's another story—Back to mine.
I'm throwing Hail Mary passes now, "It's either that, or we go out for dinner and ask the waitress if she wants to serve more than food."
We both laugh, and I agree to call Satan the broker, Monday. Just call me Faust. I don't want to do that.
We hang up. Before she has time to Google me, I call her back. "So that dinner thing. You think it would work? I haven't eaten yet."
She laughs, "It sounds kinda stupid."
"I know, and that's why it might work." That's what works for us: the impossible. We make the unreasonable make sense.
It makes sense to the unseen forces at work too. I drive to the agreed restaurant, and the heaven's open, changing every red light to green. I arrive 15 minutes ahead of schedule, and before MyUnwife. This is a sign!
I'm inside and seated. She's still not here, but it's still early. I call so she doesn't wait for me out front. She will. She always arrives first. She knows it. She'll wait out front.
Well, I don't have to call her…I could just eat…
NO! I'm a good guy: I'll call. Sometimes I have to say it aloud for it to be true. Not now. Here in the restaurant, sitting by myself, I'll just mumble it. People are already staring.
She's here. We're conspiring over menus:
"Ok, I've seen the waitress, but only briefly. She seems nice, but busy." I glance to all the full tables in her section. My gaze stops at each party to make my point. MyUwife's eyes trace my gaze; she nods. We both know what this means. It means she may be the one broach the "service" issue. Rob scenarios include gentle friendly nudges and slow charming banter. MyUnwife is viper direct with a smile.
The waitress arrives. She asks for our drink orders. Neither of us suggest anything more than iced-T. We're getting a feel for the girl. Better to at least shake hands first.
After she's out of earshot, we begin roleplay.
"Hi," MYUnwife says, "First off, we'd like to tell you that we both think that you're very cute."
"Uhm…we're not asking her for a threesome."
"I know, but if I start like that, when I do ask her to serve the paperwork, she'll say 'Oh that's all?' and do it."
"Oh..the 'Oh thank God!' approach. Very good." we both laugh.
"Maybe we should have gone to a strip club. They'd serve us." Neither of us has ever gone to a strip club. I'm not even sure where the closest one is. Do they advertise in the phone book? We won't go, but it's funny to suggest. We've always pushed the shock factor. Besides, if we did go to a strip club, we wouldn't have to ask this waitress for help. This is worse than a first date.
Uhm…hi…yeah…I…uh…I…was like thinking….
The waitress comes back. She takes our order. We both ask for the fish and chips. She asks about our batter choice. I could use this point to ask about her "service" but, instead I banter a little over my choices. Light flirting. MyUnwife nods. She knows what this is. So does the waitress. This isn't her first table. She's polite, but too busy for social. She's gone.
We continue or stalling and plotting until the food arrives. It's now or never time, and I personally am leaning towards never. That's when MyUnwife steps up, and leans over the plate.
"is there anything else I can get you?"
"Yes, We have a favor to ask you." MyUnwife smiles up. Slightly embarrassed, one, two, three blinks. Very good…no wonder I married her, I never stood a chance otherwise…
The professional takes over and continues her pitch. The waitress nods, then says, "I'll be right back."
She's gone. I thought we had this one! I look at MyUnwife, she shrugs and sips her tea. "Better enjoy it," I joke, "That's the last time she's coming back." She smiles back, but doesn't say a word.
I'm done with my fries and cole-slaw when the waitress returns. "Ok, so I need to sign something, right?"
MyUnwife nods, flips over a small packet and the girl dives in. She's a samurai with a ball point, each mark a deft maneuver and a page flip. She's done this before. You can tell. Her own? A friends? It doesn't matter, right now she's doing ours. She's my hero. Even MyUnwife gives her an affirmative, "You Rock."
Before she leaves, I make sure to do my part as well. MyUnwife has handled the big things. The grand scheme. I'm a man of details. That's what I do. We still have needs. "Can I ask you one more small favor?"
"Yes?"
"Can we both get some more tartar sauce please?"
"Sure!" And she vanishes between a fork wielding patron and converging bus boy trays.
Like marriage, in divorce we all serve our parts. If we'd always been so attentive and team-like, we wouldn't be here, but that's not mine to worry about now. Right now I'm worried about tartar sauce, and my waitress has that covered. I'm done. She's good. MyUnwife and I will tip her well. She's performed a service above and beyond the call of duty.
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