We went to George’s Kitchen, a diner in Cleveland, for a late breakfast on Valentine’s Day. Our party consisted of me, the Common Household Husband, Older Daughter and her husband.
It was the diner-iest looking diner I have seen in a long time. Our seasoned waitress was clad in a beautiful bright red sweater, appropriate for this saint’s day. As we arrived at our table, I observed several patrons shoving money into the waitress’s apron pocket as they were leaving. They clearly adored her.
George wants everyone to eat a lot of eggs. The menu discouraged the ordering of eggs in increments of one or two. All breakfast dishes were THREE eggs plus something else, such as corned beef hash, or bacon & hash browns, or an omelette. EXCEPT, if you ordered pancakes, you could then add TWO eggs.
The menu said, “Absolutely no substitutions” at the top of every page. I was downright afraid to ask for just two eggs, without ordering pancakes.
The waitress took our order, calling my 30+ year-old daughter “dear”, a requirement in a diner. On the down side, orange juice was the only juice available. On the up side, the CHH was excited to order corned beef hash. He’s not going to get that at home.
When we were finished giving our order, the waitress said, “Ok, thanks. I’ll be back in a couple of hours,” and walked away.
A short time later, she served us our large meals. A while later she came back to check on us. Upon seeing that the CHH had cleaned bare his plate of corned beef hash, she said, “Oh, you did a good job on that!” CHH teased, “Well, I was waiting for you to bring me some breakfast.” She replied that she was all alone because she had killed two husbands.
As we were lingering over breakfast, we heard the man at the table behind us call our waitress over. I did not look, but could hear that he had a baby with him. We overheard him say, “I have a huge request. And there will be a big tip in it for you. Would you be able to watch my baby while I go out to the car? I know it’s a big thing to ask, but I will only be gone a few minutes.” I guess he had not heard her comment about former husbands. She agreed to look after Baby.
At our table, the CHH murmured his doubt that Single Dad would actually return. We held our breath. A minute passed. The waitress cooed at the baby. Our tension increased. Two minutes. Then, sigh of relief, Single Dad returned. Faith in human beings restored, at least for today!
I’m not much into Valentine’s Day, but our red-sweatered waitress showed us the day of love in action. (Perhaps we should ask those deceased husbands if they know St. Valentine, who might be hanging out with them in martyr’s row in heaven).
I wish I could write novels, if only so I could put that waitress into a book.
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| Handwritten sign on the door listing the hours. No service after 2:45 PM! |
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