Three weeks from today is the anniversary of my Interview for my current job.

I interviewed at 1:00.

I came back that night for dinner.

Adam and I were waited on by a seasoned server named Jen.

Jen is one of the good ones. A professional server. A lifer. She is good at what she does. Her biggest fault is that she knows she’s good at her job.

I don’t criticize this as I knew I was good when I waited tables as well.

She waited on Adam and I, impressed us, I took the job, and the rest is history.

The thing about Jen, who’ll read this tomorrow, is that she has a very distinguished look.

She has striking Lucille Ball red hair. Sprayed within and inch of its life. Red. Red. Red.

She has an amazing personality. And for, her service, and hospitality are her life. She lives to do her job well.

Fast forward to today.

A man calls.

He says when they were here last year they had an amazing server. And when they come back next week they’d like her again.

I k ow of course who they are talking about.

But I ask.

He tells me she is. Tall. And blond.

Huh?

Maybe I’m wrong.

I have no tall blondes since last summer except someone who is not Jen.

I have him describe her.

He insists. Tall. Blond.

I ask again.

Tall. Blond.

I ask them if he knows her name.

He tells me he thinks it’s Jen.

Seriously. Her hair is red. Seriously red.

I put the note in his reservation. But I think to myself if he thinks she is blond he deserves a table by the dumpster.