Continually learning...
It was toward the end of my shift at the end of a long weekend. My inner monologue was full of bitching, self-pity, even anger - "How the hell is it that I'm working in a restaurant again, dealing with all this bullshit?" We were down to two servers - the rest had been cut. It was just Matt (seemingly one of the weaker ones) and myself. We were being sat left and right, running around, tables all over the place. "You have #70 - it's just one lady, I got her a water," the hostess told me.
On the way to #70, I passed by #81 - a party of 5, eating and drinking it up, also my table. The tiny woman was seated by herself in a table next to them, but not too close; very last table on the patio, closest to the street. It was as though she was doing her best to be away from as many people as possible. I handed her a menu and her glass of water, "Just one tonight?" "Yes," she uttered out quickly, "You got any breakfast still? Grits or oatmeal?" Her voice sounded like years of cigarettes.
"No, sorry, we're almost closed - we do have the breakfast menu, but no grits or oatmeal." I pointed her to that page in the menu "All day breakfast." I looked down toward the ground - a Kmart bag, chocked full, almost bursting at its cheap, plastic seams. Another one lay on the table. I told her I'd give her a minute.
When I came back with a bread basket, she grabbed a roll right away, taking a bite before asking, "Am I reading this right? $4.95 for a hot dog???" She seemed stunned. At this point, I realized she was probably homeless. I pointed her to the kids menu - same hot dog, same serving, $3.95. She seemed excited about the bargain. "Ok, I'll have that. With fries, right?" "Yup! I'll put it right in for you," I said, doing my best to make sure she didn't know that I "knew."
When I went back inside, Don asked me "What'd crazy lady order?"
"Huh?," I asked, unsure of who or what he was talking about.
She gave off the distinct impression of homeless, but not crazy.
"Crazy lady," he repeated, "Your guest."
"Oh, just a kiddie dog."
I was almost a bit offended by him calling her that.
When it was ready, I took her order out with a bottle of ketchup hidden in my left hand, and before I even sat her plate on the table, she asked "You got ketchup?" I handed it over to her. "Ohhh you came all prepared. Thank you." I gave her a hearty "No problem" and walked back inside. I was a bit wary of the notion that she might just eat and walk off, but wasn't going to sit around and stare. I figured if she did walk off, I'd only lose a couple bucks, and at least she'd have had a good meal.
I began doing some sidework and was in there for no more than three or four minutes before she came walking in. "I almost left without paying!!! I came inside to make good on my check. It sure was good, too." She pulled out a few crumpled up one dollar bills and a ten from her pocket. She asked "Is it four even?" I opened up her check and said "$4.27." She counted out her ones and only had four. Then she passed me the ten. I almost made change - with anyone else, I would have, giving them some room to pay the check as well as to leave a tip. But for some reason, I decided against it. I was just grateful for her honesty. "Four's fine." She passed me the money with another quiet "thanks," and left.
As I began filling up the sugar caddies and salt and pepper shakers, moving around with that distinct ache in my feet, knowing I had plenty more to do to finish up for the night, I realized that things could still be so much worse. My eyes welled up with tears. I wonder how many hot dogs she enjoyed as a child, never imagining that a hot dog, complete with free rolls and butter, would later become a gourmet experience. I thought about what has to happen to in one's life to end up in a place like that; carrying around all of your belongings in kmart bags, sitting away from everyone (probably for fear that they might "smell" your homelessness), hoping to order a $2 bowl of oatmeal or grits at 9:30pm on a Sunday night. Some sort of addiction? Mental illness? Maybe both, I thought to myself. Maybe that's why Don called her the crazy lady.
The experience made me more thankful -- just to have a job right now. To have my sanity. To know that I have an addiction and to be able to actively work on making myself better. To be able to go somewhere for a meal and not worry too much about it being $4.95, probably knowing all the while that I'm being labeled as the "crazy lady."
Life really could be so much worse.
On the way to #70, I passed by #81 - a party of 5, eating and drinking it up, also my table. The tiny woman was seated by herself in a table next to them, but not too close; very last table on the patio, closest to the street. It was as though she was doing her best to be away from as many people as possible. I handed her a menu and her glass of water, "Just one tonight?" "Yes," she uttered out quickly, "You got any breakfast still? Grits or oatmeal?" Her voice sounded like years of cigarettes.
"No, sorry, we're almost closed - we do have the breakfast menu, but no grits or oatmeal." I pointed her to that page in the menu "All day breakfast." I looked down toward the ground - a Kmart bag, chocked full, almost bursting at its cheap, plastic seams. Another one lay on the table. I told her I'd give her a minute.
When I came back with a bread basket, she grabbed a roll right away, taking a bite before asking, "Am I reading this right? $4.95 for a hot dog???" She seemed stunned. At this point, I realized she was probably homeless. I pointed her to the kids menu - same hot dog, same serving, $3.95. She seemed excited about the bargain. "Ok, I'll have that. With fries, right?" "Yup! I'll put it right in for you," I said, doing my best to make sure she didn't know that I "knew."
When I went back inside, Don asked me "What'd crazy lady order?"
"Huh?," I asked, unsure of who or what he was talking about.
She gave off the distinct impression of homeless, but not crazy.
"Crazy lady," he repeated, "Your guest."
"Oh, just a kiddie dog."
I was almost a bit offended by him calling her that.
When it was ready, I took her order out with a bottle of ketchup hidden in my left hand, and before I even sat her plate on the table, she asked "You got ketchup?" I handed it over to her. "Ohhh you came all prepared. Thank you." I gave her a hearty "No problem" and walked back inside. I was a bit wary of the notion that she might just eat and walk off, but wasn't going to sit around and stare. I figured if she did walk off, I'd only lose a couple bucks, and at least she'd have had a good meal.
I began doing some sidework and was in there for no more than three or four minutes before she came walking in. "I almost left without paying!!! I came inside to make good on my check. It sure was good, too." She pulled out a few crumpled up one dollar bills and a ten from her pocket. She asked "Is it four even?" I opened up her check and said "$4.27." She counted out her ones and only had four. Then she passed me the ten. I almost made change - with anyone else, I would have, giving them some room to pay the check as well as to leave a tip. But for some reason, I decided against it. I was just grateful for her honesty. "Four's fine." She passed me the money with another quiet "thanks," and left.
As I began filling up the sugar caddies and salt and pepper shakers, moving around with that distinct ache in my feet, knowing I had plenty more to do to finish up for the night, I realized that things could still be so much worse. My eyes welled up with tears. I wonder how many hot dogs she enjoyed as a child, never imagining that a hot dog, complete with free rolls and butter, would later become a gourmet experience. I thought about what has to happen to in one's life to end up in a place like that; carrying around all of your belongings in kmart bags, sitting away from everyone (probably for fear that they might "smell" your homelessness), hoping to order a $2 bowl of oatmeal or grits at 9:30pm on a Sunday night. Some sort of addiction? Mental illness? Maybe both, I thought to myself. Maybe that's why Don called her the crazy lady.
The experience made me more thankful -- just to have a job right now. To have my sanity. To know that I have an addiction and to be able to actively work on making myself better. To be able to go somewhere for a meal and not worry too much about it being $4.95, probably knowing all the while that I'm being labeled as the "crazy lady."
Life really could be so much worse.