Then one afternoon, a former cook pulled me aside.
“Frank, there’s something you need to witness yourself,” he told me.
“What do you mean?”
“Visit your restaurant looking like a man who doesn’t have money for dinner. You’ll understand.”
His warning stayed with me.
That night, I could barely sleep.
The following Thursday, I visited a secondhand clothing store and bought an old jacket with several rips.
I deliberately skipped my shower and left my expensive watch and wallet at home.
The only valuable thing I carried was my cellphone, hidden inside the jacket.
Shortly after noon, I entered Rosie’s looking like someone who’d been sleeping outdoors.
I walked up to the hostess.
“Excuse me, miss. Could I possibly have some water and a bowl of soup? I’ve only got four dollars.”
She examined me from head to toe.
Her expression immediately turned unfriendly.
“Sorry. We don’t have any available tables.”
