BREAKFAST AT THE DINER — #3
Several of us were munching food and sipping coffee, when an old guy at the counter sneezed, twice and then again. He had also sneezed several times a few minutes earlier, so everyone was worried about him, even the people pretending they weren’t.
He sneezed again, and a lady seated nearby asked for her breakfast in a box, then waited impatiently for the styrofoam while this guy sneezed twice more.
I was at the counter, too, twenty stools away, but the counter is U-shaped so actually I was directly opposite the sneezer, with only a coffee pot and the waitress and a few feet of floor tile between us. He sneezed again, covering his mouth like you’re supposed to, so I didn’t deck him, but his sneezing was reducing the marvelousness of my omelet.
I wasn’t the only one feeling the happy vibes of breakfast fastly fade. We’re in the middle of a pandemic, straight from a science fiction novel. The Stand, by Steven King, perhaps. People are a little tense.
The man sneezed again, and the waitress, wearing a mask, said something to someone in the kitchen, who was also wearing a mask, while the sneezer sneezed twice more.
Wearing an apron and a frown, a burly man emerged from the kitchen, carrying a to-go container. “I’m gonna ask you to leave,” he said. The sneezer shook his head ‘yes’, and the cook slid his breakfast from the plate to the carry-out box, shut the box’s lid, and gently but firmly ‘helped’ the customer up off the stool. With one last sneeze, the sneezer was out the door.
After the sneezer had left and the door had fiirmly latched closed, the cook said, “Adios, motherfucker.” There were some light chuckles, and tense customers. Our hero, protector from the COVID, walked back to the kitchen, and the diner was quiet enough you could hear him washing his hands.
Another customer asked for a box and then was gone. The diner was emptier than it had been, both five minutes ago and three months ago.
♦ ♦ ♦
Now there was only me and one other old guy eating his eggs, so the waitress talked with him, and then with me, and it made me wish there were more customers. I come to the diner to eat and eavesdrop, not to talk. But she had a story to tell, which I’ll re-tell.
The waitress needs a name, though, so let’s call her Kirstin, which is not her name.
While the diner was closed by the coronavirus lockdown, Kirstin got a phone call from Bob, the owner of the diner. He asked her, “Why aren’t you taking Unemployment?”
“Because I don’t need it as much as other people do,” she said. “My husband and I have money in the bank.”
Bob argued with her on the phone, not mean or angry, just insistent. “Look,” he told her, “you’re entitled to it. You’ve been taxed for unemployment coverage for years, and you’re past your probationary period at the diner so I’m never going to fire you. This is your chance to get a payout after all you’ve paid in. Please, file for unemployment.” Kirstin said OK, and she filed, a month after the diner had been closed and a month before it re-opened.
The story struck me on two counts. First, the owner’s wisecrack about Kirstin’s “probationary period” at the diner? She’s been working there since the 1990s. Kirstin kinda is the diner — she’s the only waitress, and if it’s your first or second visit you’re “Sweetie,” but after that she probably knows you by name and you can order “the usual.” Which is amazing, because there must be 1,000 regulars at the diner, once-a-weekers like me, and everyday eaters and once-a-monthers, and somehow any of us can say “the usual, please,” and Kirstin will bring exactly what’s wanted, plus refills of coffee.
Second, and almost as impressive, Bob pays part of any unemployment claim. That’s the way the system works. I’m not sure how he knew that Kirstin hadn’t filed, but when he called and asked her to file for
unemployment, he was asking Kirstin to raise his taxes.
I’d wager no-one who works at Denny’s got a phone call like that during the lockdown.
6/12/2020
Republished 1/18/2025
I’m a grumpy old man who lives alone and has few friends — basically a hermit. Once a week I have breakfast at my favorite diner. Most weeks it’s my only in-person interaction with other humans, which is not my strong suit.
Yeah, I’m aware of the coronavirus, so I go to the diner at dawn, before it gets busy. I wash my hands before and after, cough into my elbow, spray Lysol on my food, pay at my plate, tell the waitress to keep the change, and hold my breath while leaving until I’m outside. It’s a little more dangerous than staying at home, but life would suck without breakfast at the diner, so get off my lawn.
And remember, decent people leave a generous tip.
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