Allowing my mind to wander at Friendly's

Working as a waitress, not the best of jobs in any way, less so when you work as a waitress in an out of the way strip mall, in an old style family restaurant, where table cloths are considered extras.

There is an old Friendly’s restaurant in the strip mall near me. From back when Friendly’s made no pretense of being a real restaurant, when a strip mall pretended to be an upscale mall. Back when Friendly’s was nothing but a neighborhood ice cream shop, with tables as old as the strip mall, and a wait staff older still.

And the wait staff there is old, old enough to not still be working, old enough for me to expect they are only supplementing their social security incomes. Yet by the look of them, they never had much in the way of income.

My waitress shares a name and most likely a decade with my grandmother. But I suppose that is all they share. Life has been hard to this Mary, and in her face and demeanor, she carries all the cares and worries of all her years.

She has outlived so much, yet I expect she has lived so little. Could I interview her, ask her about her history, how far she had come, where she expects to go. I hunger for information about her, and yet I fear breaking the barrier that separates us.

What does she become then?

And why do I feel so drawn to her, to all the elderly staff here? Because they have reached an age I never will, or because I so need some one to unload on myself. And what is that makes me leave her a tip that is clearly one third of the meager bill, for what is at best mediocre service.

Is it guilt, or is it her fee, for being my muse for the day.