Late lunch at the Limelight, a bonus because I was finally free of my jury duty.
S., the waitress I had bantered with for what felt like forever, walked up, pad and paper in hand, sat down opposite me in the booth and took my order (Sante Fe Chicken sandwich, so spicy and delicious, and a salad).
She seemed sad or distant, and before standing up and taking my order back to the kitchen, she blurted out, “Today’s my last day…” and trailed off.
“Oh! Wow, you’ll be missed,” I said. “Moving on? Another job?”
“Yeah, another job, movin’ on.”
“Good reason? Bad?” I felt like I wasn’t picking up on her mood.
“No, it’s a good reason. I’m going to work for a friend who has his own restaurant. He’s been having trouble filling his day shifts so I’m going to help him out.”
“Oh, that’s good,” I said.
“Yeah! And it’ll be more money, and stuff…”
“And you’ll be working with a friend.”
“Right! It’s just… I was OK with it, and now I’m starting to feel a little sad. I’m going to miss my friends and customers!”
I smiled. “That’s cool. You will be missed. Hey! Do you have email?”
“Actually, I do!” She sounded surprised at herself. Or maybe surprised at me for asking. She tore a sheet off her pad and started writing her email address down. “I didn’t for a long time, I didn’t even have a computer, but a while ago someone asked me about it and I tried to sign in, and I realized I had forgotten what it was! I had to make a new one.”
“Oh. Funny.” She knew me as being the kind of guy glued to my iPhone when I was in alone. I poked my finger at the table to punctuate my point: “But… you do have indoor plumbing, don’t you?”
Still hunched over her piece of paper, she laughed. “I do have indoor plumbing, yes.” She laughed again, then handed me her email address.