The Lemonade Stand
“So, what would you like?” she asks me, coffee mug in hand. “I’ve got whiskey, gin, some leftover banana liquor… ” She went on to enumerate the kind of drinks she could conjure in less than five minutes. But it wasn’t the multitude of choices that baffled me.
Laura didn’t believe in different vessels for different beverages — meaning you could have been expected to drink a shot of tequila or some Champagne from the same type of glass. It was the implication that I wanted to stay even more than the two minutes required for me to do my job.
“Do you have lemonade?” I smiled.
That’s what they told me to do.
I met Laura at a fundraiser for the local church — something that, I was told, adults usually do. When I asked “Why?”, the best answer someone could come up with was: “For some debit with the Boss.” They chuckled and added: “We all have our sins, hon.”
Laura was your typical churchgoer: all skirts and covered hair on Sundays. Too bad, her filthy mouth went everywhere with her. She did restrain from swearing in church, but only barely. Her secret, as I found out later, was a cross-shaped ring that sat just too snugly on one of her fingers.
Pain is a big motivator.
