Some readers possibly don’t realize that part of my alleged sense of humor comes from holding doors open for people, and as I do the honors, asking them for a quarter for my efforts.
PLEASE realize this is a joke. I ask for the 25-cent tip mainly to test their reaction and discover how quickly they’re able to think on their feet.
One such experiment (I’ve written about this before) happened a few years ago as I held the door for a man and his family as they entered the Santa Fe Souper Salad.
As the man, the last one to enter, walked past me, I put my hand out and spouted my usual “25 cents, please.”
Well, that must have gotten his pugilistic juices flowing, as he challenged me with something like, “I ought to punch you for doing that!” That would have been quite a sight: two chinless old men duking it out and missing half the time.
Well, immediately, I explained it was a joke and that I do that many times, especially to strangers, with mixed results. My explanation cooled him a bit, yet while inside the restaurant, he mumbled something and moved his family to a table far from us.
Such ingratitude!
I failed to mention that on occasion I offered group rates, say, 50 cents for a family of five. Bit that venture is reserved for people I know, people unlikely to take umbrage at my proposition, even a deal that provides a discount.
The question becomes: How much money could I earn during store and restaurant business hours if I stood as the de facto doorman and requested a quarter each time?
Places like Charlie’s in downtown Las Vegas have a second door that leads to the restaurant proper, to prevent a cold (or hot) blast of air from entering. And that presents a second opportunity to plead for funds. But too often, a customer, now ahead of me, will say, “This time I’ll hold the door for you, so we’re even.”
Truth be told, in my years of playing that game, I’ve earned exactly 25 cents.
Here’s what happened:
As I greeted a woman, a stranger, she placed a quarter in my hand even before I’d finished my spiel. That surprised me, as either she’d witnessed my game before, or just happened to have a spare quarter in her hand. For what? To buy a newspaper? That would have required a second quarter, or if it’s the New Mexican, three more quarters.
Although I doubt I’ll be able to finance my retirement cottage or take too many trans-global flights on the money I’ve received, it’s still fun to note the reactions.
What heightens the fun is discovering whether and to what extent people can be quick with the repartee. Even though I taught beginning speech classes for 32 years, I myself have never been very good at furnishing a snappy answer when someone sticks his or hand out and says, “Twenty-five cents, please.”
Predictably, at the top of the list of people’s responses is the chuckle, no words uttered but maybe a smile or a glare. Some react with “Put it on my tab.” I also get, “Next time,” “Yeah, right,” “I gave at the office,” “Sorry, I’m broke” and “You give me a quarter.”
The person who impressed me the most was the lady who slipped a quarter into my hand and refused to take it back.
“I was joking. You don’t owe me anything,” I tried to respond. But she was steadfast, refusing politely to take it back, and uttering something to the effect that I probably needed it more than she did. But I still wonder why the quarter she gave me came from her hand and was not tucked away in her purse.
I don’t think my fame (notoriety?) is equal to that of a resident many of us knew only as the “Quarter Lady,” a middle-aged woman who earned her nickname by asking passersby for a quarter, which she often received.
She held court near the entrance to a Safeway store on Mills and Hot Springs Boulevard. The store was on the site of the current Big R store. That was back in the ‘80s, when a quarter amounted to something.
One day, as I sent my then-7-year-old son Benjie to enrich the lady’s take by 25 cents, she put her hand out — not to accept the coin but to refuse it. She explained that she’d collected enough for the day, as she sat on the sidewalk and dug into a small pizza, bought from Gustavo, who ran Upper Crust Pizza in Mills Plaza.
Benjie was never shy about meeting people and once asked the woman’s name, which she didn’t reveal. Yet, she (or perhaps we) became fixtures at the lady’s station on Mills Plaza, and we believe she even factored in our contribution to help her plan her next day’s budget.
Occasionally, even when we were not on a shopping trip, we’d spot her from a distance and drive toward her to chip in.
Without trying to appear “uppity” or snobbish, I hope people who have been asked for a tip when I hold the door open don’t construe my presence there as that of a homeless, under-fed person who spends hours each day fantasizing about opulence while asking for spare change.
I also wonder about the Quarter Lady. Did she move away, pass away?
Our dealings with the lady go back some 30 years. I can’t recall exactly how her (unknown) name came up, but I do remember having heard that she’d moved into a boarding home where she received three squares a day.
Someone might have even phoned, mailed or texted me about the status of the Quarter Lady, but I fail to remember anything about her more recent status.
After all, that was some time ago.
• • •
So, if you see the Quarter Lady around, feel free to grease her palm with a coin. And if you don’t see her, just drop it into a collection plate.