Patron.
This past Sunday, my sweet spouse and I strolled a block to the plaza, as is usual on that day of rest, to enjoy our weekly treat of a mocha frappe at Black and White Coffee. We like to linger under the cafe’s awning and watch the plaza action. The only problem that day was that I had forgotten to wear my brown Merrell walking shoes. As soon as I saw Arturo angling to meet me near the gazebo with his shoeshine kit, I remembered. I pointed to my unshineable Teva sandals and shrugged an apology. Not accepted. “You are my patrón”, I understood Alfredo to say. He was counting on the money from my usual weekend shoeshine, something I would never had remotely considered in the States. I apologized and pre-paid him for a shine on Wednesday. A patrón has responsibilities.
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