Table 416 had already ordered, eaten, and paid, but the Mom’s direct eye contact begged, politely, for my immediate attention. I beelined to the table.
She pointed to her six year old and said, “He has something to ask you.”
“Okay, ” I said and lowering myself to his eye level.
“Do you want a sticker?” he said.
I looked backed at him with big eyes and a half dropped jaw, “Do I want a sticker? Are you kidding me? Like, uh, yea! Stickers rock!”
I offered him my personal check presenter: the little black folder that holds my daily brewhouse check receipts and health cards and order pads. I told him he can choose a spot to place my new sticker and that way I will always have it.
He thumb placed a quarter sized “Trader Joe’s 2011 Rose Parade” adhesive in the lower left quadrant.
I’m not sure if it’s a good thing or a bad thing that my mortgage company won’t acknowledge stickers as formal currency, because that sucker is near priceless to me.