Personal Narrative-Tom's The Fiddler Crab Catcher
Tom’s the Fiddler Crab Catcher
One late afternoon, as I looked out from a large window where I work, I saw this raggedy white van pulling into the parking lot. As It park towards the north side of the lot, I noticed the AC unit protruding from the back door. My attention changed as a customer came in I greeted him and, as usual with his nasty attitude he said “Newport one hundred on a box, a blue game and the rest on pump 5”. He dangled the bundled up twenty-dollar bill on the counter, revolved around and walked away towards the wrong exit, I said. “The other door Sir, thanks! have a nice day.” Tom, a seasonal fiddler catcher returns to town for another exciting season. Here we go, once again more drama, more inventions, a new style.
I turned around to get a carton of Newport to restock the rack, I heard a voice “Is the coffee fresh?” Before I rotated around, I looked up at the monitors, and out of my mouth came. Yes, Sir, it was picked this morning from the jungles of Colombia, flown into the country by the drug lords, never passed the customs office, cautiously roasted with a touch of the house blend oils, grounded at the Suffolk plant, delivered by Christina by two thirty and brewed fifteen minutes ago. Is that fresh enough for you? Sir, I gyrated around, he said “you still love me?” I extended my hand how are you Tom? “Back for another season he replied”.
After Tom gets his coffee and some pastry still mumbles like before, has a habit of having very long conversations…