“She shall be called his wench or his leman.” – Chaucer
What is it about a waitress wiping a table with a wet rag that evokes so much winking? I have been waitressing at The Adobe Grill now for five months and have become fascinated with the phenomena of THE WINK. Never ever in my entire life have I been winked at so often, by so many. The first time it happened, my hands stopped in mid-motion, and I stared, confused.
Wink: a semi-formal communication which indicates *shared, unspoken knowledge.
*Winker: You will get my coffee?
*Winkee: Yo recuerdo que usted toma la nata y el azúcar.
*Winker: And dessert?
*Winkee: Voy a traer su erizo.
*Winker: So, you will come back?
*Winkee: Y voy a tratar muy difícil no derramar nada a usted.
So confusing. I was not sure which unspoken knowledge we were sharing. And when did I start thinking in Spanish? Could it be just amusing, innocent flirtation? Wife’s right there, and I did get his coffee, remembered the cream and sugar, the favourite dessert, and delivered it on time and intact.
Then it happened again. I’ve passed it off to poor lighting, dry contact lenses, mistaken identity, wishful thinking and/or arrival at Margaritaville. But it keeps happening. And there is no pattern to it. Old, young, attractive, not, single, coupled. Last week, my first female winker. The winkers cover a broad spectrum. I am being winked at. I am averaging two or three winks per week.
I went to an authority on waitresses, not that he is one, but Jonah knows all the waitresses on Main Street. He dismissed my incredulity immediately. “A waitress’s duty is to move around and break hearts. And it’s simple. It’s the food. You serve a man food, and you’re going to get winked at.” He has a point. Five years of delivering only food for thought at the bookstore and nary a wink.
I may have to admit that all this winking is tied in to the perception of waitress, or serving wench. A wench is bodacious, unrestrained by convention or propriety. And I know that I am not the better waitress there, but I am the best. A 1912 study based on phrenology revealed that redheads make the best waitresses. Phrenology claims to tell a person’s character from the shape of their skull. Once popular in the 19th century, but considered to be one of the more dubious sciences, it is now a defunct field of study. In 1912 some redheaded waitress had the best head massage ever and walked away laughing. Unspoken knowledge, no winking required.
After reading a Marion Roach book called “The Roots of Desire,” I was especially intrigued by my heritage. Less than 4% of the world’s population is naturally red-haired. It is by far the colour most bought in a box. And red hair is a genetic mutation that emerged 50,000 years ago in Africa. It was only in 1995 that the gene for red hair, MCIR, was discovered.
I read of little known facts, that redheads are harder to sedate, requiring 20% more anesthesia. This has been my own personal experience. When needle after needle did not freeze me at the dentist’s, he persevered until I overdosed. That’s when I chose to have dental work done without anesthetic from then on.
Aristotle’s take on redheads was that they were emotionally unhousebroken. I won’t disagree.
So if you nictate (from nicere, to beckon), I will too (nictitate: briefly shut the eyes). Give me a moment to compose myself and reconfigure my tally. In Nigeria a wink is the signal for children to leave the room. This walking, writing, wench of a waitress will return with your fare.
Good Life
diane
Wendy, le inspiró la diversión con el español. Gracias!
Y Tom, muchas gracias por la clave de acento teclas!
it all makes sense now! winking, wenching, waitressing, and red hair! there must be some genetic memory of winking being linked as a response to the stimulus of red hair and food. . . . perhaps the genetic selection for red hair has triggered a genetic segregation that links a “winking” response in non-redheads. . . . picture a band of Homo sapiens, lumbering in the Great Rift Valley. . . . stumble upon a red-head roasting dinner on an open fire. Eureka! (oops, Greek not yet spoken), those lumbering souls must have “winked” convulsively at the sight (disbelief). . . the red-head offered food to calm the wild, blah-haired intruders. over geologic and biologic time, the response has evolved to a solitary wink; fully knowing that the unspoken desires will be delivered, without a word being spoken.
Charles Darwin ain’t got nothin’ on me.
thou art an enigmatic lassie, an old soul, brimming with humanity, quiet chuckles and quick retorts to share with your audience, the winkiing public. Aptly born with flaming red hair which suits your personality to a T.
We would not have it any other way, love & hugs, cyl
Hard to sedate?! Really?? I better not say any more…
Hi Diane,
Greetings from an old friend. I came across your son on FaceBook. In the midst of reminiscing with an old friend. Jonah referred me to your blog.
I have thought of you over the years from time to time. The few weeks we spent together and touched each other’s souls, across the 4th dimension. Recall going to see “Jonah who will be 25 in the Year 2000”, some time after it came out.
It is of great interest to me that you have a page dedicated to Osho. The commune I was looking for, turned out to be Bhagwan’s ashram in Poona, India, which I visited twice in ’78 & ’79 and the later incarnation in Rancho Rajneesh in the early 80s. I left about 7 months before it all fell apart.
I am glad you are alive and well and still writing. I am living in Pacifica, in the San Francisco bay area, with my partner Victoria. Very happy and about as healthy as can be for someone of my age.
So what about you? What was your kinship with the cult of orange? I use the ‘c’ word with love. For Osho was the last illusion.
Peace & light be with you… ~Jeff