Free Lemon with
$15.00 Purchase
by Don Drewniak
As a teenager
beginning in the mid-1950s and an adult through
the early 1980s, Lenny, one of my two best
friends, had a trigger temper. This resulted in
his having engaged in innumerable arguments and
fights.
We push the
clock forward from those days to the mid-1980s
when Lenny and I were in our early 40s. My wife
and I rented a four-bedroom house somewhere on
Cape Cod for two weeks (the neuron that held the
name of the town is one of the many that have
escaped from my brain over the years).
Invited to
spend three days with us were Lenny and his wife,
Claudette, and another couple who were long-time
friends, Tom and Harriet.
Both couples (they
had not previously met) arrived mid-afternoon on
the first Friday of the vacation. Once they were
settled, we gathered on a shaded rear deck and
broke open beer and wine.
Lenny settled
into a chaise lounge, lit a cigar and began
sipping red wine. He said very little during the
early stages of the conversation.
It was,
perhaps, twenty to thirty minutes into our
conversations when I mentioned something (another
neuron gone) that had “pissed me off.”
“You know,
Don,” interjected Lenny, “you need to
calm down. Be more like me. I’ve learned to
roll with the punches.”
Uh-huh.
As dinner time
approached, the conversation turned to what to
eat.
“Fish,”
said Lenny, “my treat.”
We all agreed.
Lenny, Harriet and I headed to a local seafood
market. The others remained behind to get a
grille fired up and take care of plates, glasses,
napkins and all the rest needed for the meal.
Lenny took
total charge in the market and racked up a $72.00
bill (approximately $200 today).
A woman most
likely in her early 20s processed the order,
packed everything into three bags and added one
lemon after Lenny paid the bill.
“Three
more lemons,” said Lenny.
“That
will be forty-five cents.”
“No,”
said Lenny who was showing signs of being
irritated, “Look at the sign behind you. It
says, 'Free lemon with $15.00 purchase.' I get
three more lemons because I spent $72.00.”
“No,”
came the reply, “it’s one lemon per
purchase.”
“Then
split the order into four separate ones.”
“No, I
can’t do that.”
“Why not?”
responded Lenny whose face had turned fire-engine
red.
I whispered to
Harriet to take the bags to the car.
“Because
those are the rules.”
Meanwhile,
there was a backlog of customers. Some were
enjoying the show, others were losing patience.
“Lenny,
forget it, we don’t need the the damn lemons,”
I said in a low voice.
He then yelled,
“Get me the manager.”
The young
woman complied and turned to the waiting
customers as the manager (a guy in his fifties,
just under six feet and well over two-hundred
pounds) walked over to the back of the counter
and growled at Lenny, “What’s your
problem?”
“I paid $72.00.
The sign says, ‘Free lemon with $15.00
purchase.’ That means I get four lemons.”
I don’t
give a @%$#&^$% if you spent five hundred. It’s
one lemon. You pay for more. Now get the hell
outta my store.”
“I’ll
never buy anything again here.”
“You
think I give a shit? I got more customers than I
need. Now get the hell outta here before I call
the cops.”
Lenny took two
steps toward the counter. His fists were clenched.
I feared that he was going to jump over the
counter. I put him in a bear hug and backed him
out of the store as he hurled a volley of
expletives at the manager.
So much for
the new Lenny.
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