Weird. Eerie.

Busy day today. Bad weather everywhere means flight delays means a bar full of people.
Three businessfolks, two men and a woman, sat down together, and had some drinks and split a couple orders of wings. I'd never seen them before or anything, but we were expecting a corporate secret shopper to come through, so we were all on our best behavior. It was while they were there that the delays started piling up. So I was attentive and sweet to them at first, but then as more and more people started ordering things simultaneously I started losing ground.
Finally when they wanted their check the woman had to come up to the bar to ask for it. I apologized, and handed it to her. She sat down, and I had to pour about twelve drinks, and I just couldn't get over there to pick it up. So she came back and stood at the corner of the bar holding the check folder with her credit card sticking out, and I apologized again and ran it through right away for her (while still pouring drinks and stacking them on the tray for my next foray out into the breach, of course). She signed it, and left the check folder on the corner of the bar. I waved, and ran off with my four zillion drinks, off into the crowd.

Things were hectic. I ignored the check folder for about an hour. The actress that plays Nina Van Horn on Just Shoot Me (her name is Wendy something, I swear) sat at the corner of the bar and was sweet and charming to everyone. I finally remembered that check folder, and went and picked it off the corner of the bar.

The check, what with five beers and two double tall rum and cokes and a couple orders of wings, wound up being just about $60.
She'd written $70 in the "tip" line.
And "$130" in the "total" line.

And then had signed it. And her signature was my mother's name, in my mother's handwriting.


My name is not uncommon, but my mother has an odd trick to how she forms two of the letters, and so did this woman. I stood stock-still with a strange cold tingling running up and down my spine and through all my limbs, and read the slip over and over.

Maybe I should call my mother.

Edited to add, since nobody seems to get this: It was not actually my mother. I honestly do know what my mother looks like. This was not her. Had I not recognized my own mother, I assure you she would not have tipped me, and physical violence may have ensued. And no, she has not stolen my mother's identity. She merely had a very similar name to my mother, a name which is not particularly unusual but is not common either, and also shared with her a particular trick of connecting several of the letters.