The booth is velvet red but not nearly as lovely in texture. Matching stools line the bar, where a waitress stands. She’s dressed in jeans and a polka dot shirt. She complains about something to a patron, who emphatically agrees. They both laugh. An old man is in the far corner; he’s probably got quite a few stories beneath the worn eyes. He drinks from a mug of coffee, black of course. He silently reads the newspaper, scanning the local and state sections. He ignores anything worldly; if it ain’t in town, it don’t matter.
Several specials this week are offered in those changeable letters that you can’t find these days. Another waitress, much more cheerful, picks up the burger plate and brings it to my booth. She smiles as she sets down the plate. For a moment, it’s 1965 and this’ll cost maybe two bucks. But it’s $12 today in 2023. And even that is a bargain!
The burger is decent, topped with lettuce, onion, and tomato. It’s not super high quality like the beef in Ireland, but it’s tasty. The fries are excellent. A side of tartar sauce is requested, a taste I acquired with gay friends at a nearby bar. “Near” in terms of the country: ten minutes down the road.
When the burger is finished and three cups of coffee have been drained, the check is received. The diner is quiet, save for the complaining waitress, soft-playing oldies, and whir of fans in the kitchen. But it’s still fairly quiet as restaurants go. Normally, this place is buzzing with hungry families and local business meetings. I picked a good time.
As I finish my meal and settle the check, I take one last look around the diner. The red velvet booth, the worn stools at the bar, the cheerful waitress bustling about – they all contribute to the timeless charm of this place. The old man in the corner, lost in his newspaper, reminds me of the countless stories woven into the fabric of this diner – moments shared over cups of steaming coffee.
As I open the door to leave, the bell chimes. I utter a quick “Thank you,” but am distracted by the quote from It’s a Wonderful Life: Every time a bell rings, an angel gets its wings. I’m not religious, by any means, but I do love that movie and it reminds me of family and love. It reminds me of being able to direct that show on stage with some great high school kids. So, the thank you is directed at the kind waitress, the diner, and the bell.
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