IT’S MY TREAT

Every once in a while I like to treat myself to a good breakfast in a diner. I like it because I don’t make the things for myself that they make, such as steak and eggs or omelets with cheese in it because I don’t usually have the cheese on hand.

Today I did just the thing, going out after my shower, by myself with a hearty appetite and a strong determination not to care that I was off my diet. I entered the diner; the diner is about 95% empty at this late hour of the morning. “Can I help you?” “Can you squeeze me in?” There is always someone to greet and escort you to a booth, walking like they don’t know anyone is trailing them, suddenly spin around, drop a menu on the table and walk away, all in one swift easy motion. You settle down and don’t see anyone you know, as they look at you, but in your rush to get dressed in the morning you once again put on your invisible clothes.

After two days of waiting for the waitress to finish her conversation with another gal, and my calling home to tell them I may be late for supper, the waitress makes a grand appearance, as I jump up on my imitation leather bench and kiss her hand for showing up at all. “Yaw want cawfee?” “Yes that would be nice, make it regular, thank you.” I think: “maybe I can get out of here before the dinner crowd comes starts coming in.

Waiting for the waitress means what it says. It is a combination of two words; wait and stress. You wait on her coming to you, not her waiting on you, and you are stressed out from waiting. Finally the cup of coffee arrives and she pulls out her pad, flips a page and looks at you like: “What will he want?” I give her my order and she is gone.

My breakfast finally arrives! Without even picking up my toast, she asks: “How’s everything?” Two seconds more: “More cawfee?” three minutes later: “How’s everything?” Two seconds later: “More cawfee?” Minutes go by: “How’s everything?” Two seconds more: “More cawfee?” After she has finished her inquires, and I have finished my meal, I want to leave. I raise my head. Did she go home? Maybe she went to the Ladies room. Perhaps she had a terrible accident in the back and is laying there all by herself, and no one can hear her! Oh! There she is! Whew, had me nervous there for a moment. Wait, she’s starting to stir, she’s coming over! Walking right by me. How nice, she didn’t see my frantic waving, or my calling out to her was too softly.

I drop my head in disgust, I had my chance and I blew it! I look up again, where is she? She was there just a moment ago! She performs her one and only trick, (unless she’s moonlighting as a streetwalker after hours.)

David Copperfield has nothing on this gal.