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One of the best things about coming back to a place is going to the diner. If you’re lucky, the same waitress who gave you a hard time last time will see you walking across the parking lot, and your coffee and water will be waiting on a table for you when you come in.
So, sure enough, there was Judy standing there with her arms folded, shaking her head when I walked in a couple of Thursdays ago.
She pointed to a table. “Ok, if you insist on coming back, go on and sit down. You want the stir fry and blue cheese?”
Pat worked two days later, so I got to go through the whole thing again. By the time the week was over I’d met a half-dozen men at the counter through these two ladies. Of course, the introductions were sort of sideways and smart-alecky, but in that setting these are the only kind that count.
This Illinois diner where I eat every day is a perfect example of what’s best about America. Each noontime it’s filled with a combination of workingmen and men who used to work. There’s younger men still paying their dues, and there’s the 80-somethings being helped along by their bride of 50-plus years. For now I’m included in that family of regulars, and we all participate in a daily ritual of seeing how much grief we can take from the ladies who run the show. Needless to say, none of us ever give any of the ladies a hard time.
I watch the crowd from wherever I sit. Sometimes it’s a close inspection of the counter area, and sometimes it’s a more general overview from a booth on the side wall.
At the counter one gets to know a waitress or two as time goes by, because they’re sometimes glad to have someone to talk to. That’s where you’ll get to hear about different characters of the current era, and that’s where the current characters will all get together on stories of the characters from the past. One of the waitresses will usually pull out some old photos, and pass them around while some story is told. At least one of the waitresses will get a little misty-eyed, and usually one or more of the old men will, too.
I’ll see a particular older fellow come walking in slow and quiet, as he surveys the crowd to see who he’ll pick on and who he’ll sit with. If you watch close, you’ll know who he’ll pick on because he’ll start walking real careful so as to not disturb the man he’s approaching from behind. Then you’ll hear a perfect imitation of Woody Woodpecker, and the older man will tap on some younger man’s head.
Everybody will laugh, and all the waitresses will shake their heads. Pat or Judy will start pouring coffee. The waitresses know from the laughter how everybody’s doing. They keep an eye on the ones who are too quiet.
(Editor’s Note: Contact David Clark at P.O. Box 148, Cochran, GA 31014, or dclark@outofthesky.com.)
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