She's been serving people since before they put the new highway in, when the place was just called Truck Stop. She doesn't hover asking how everything is tasting every 6 seconds but keeps your coffee fresh, filled and hot and remembers each order without writing it down. She calls you "Honey" and brings extra napkins and not just one but a dish of lemon wedges for the snooty oldest teen daughter's fancy schmancy water.
Where truckers belly up to the lunch counter, perched on red vinyl covered stools you loved to spin on as a kid. Chatting with the waitress behind the counter with the bubbler dispensers of of temptingly colored Hawaiian Punch and Orange Hi-C. And the dessert case with individual pieces of Saran-wrapped cakes and pies. Men apologizing for accidentally making semi-crude references. But no one really minds and when your mouthy "behavior police" 9 y/o asks why he said that, you hiss-whisper "Because people just do sometimes. Mind your business, don't stare, and eat your supper."
Tired men (it was just men back then, no judgement, just fact) who drive across the country and are just glad they got there in time for a slice of the rhubarb pie, special of the house. Smiling at the kids, offering them quarters for the gumball machine which you would rather they did not take and gum they need like a hole in the head. But you feel obliged to say yes, because no one wants to hurt the feelings of someone with such bonhomie. And golly he reminds you of your kooky uncle Bill, with his weirdly both cringy and endearing extraness-- may he rest in peace.
Most of the kids eating eff all of the canned green beans you insisted they have with their meal. And Ms. Teen Thang eating NOTHING BUT broccoli to spite you because she's mad you didn't stop where she wanted to. Or some such thing. It's so hard to keep track of what they are mad at you for at that age.
And the rest filling up on French fries and pancakes drenched with syrup then eating the jelly out of the little plastic cartons that the waitress set out for the breakfast crowd. And kids playing with salt and accidentally spilling it . And copying their father putting creamers in his eyes and saying "take me to your leader!" Worse than the children! Kids begging for ice cream with half their pancakes uneaten. The little one eating French fries off the floor. And the grandiose teen glaring at everyone.
Mom and dad unwinding over their coffee and hot turkey sandwiches, relaxed by food and warmed by the cozy, grilled onion ambiance. Just kind of letting the kids' chaos happen a little. No one seems to mind. Leaving the waitress an astonishingly big tip to thank her for putting up with you all. And then she comes and tells you you have the best behaved kids she's ever seen and brings them free ice cream anyway. And the kids smirking at you over their chocolate mustaches.
Hang on to these times. Savor the memories like syrup drenched pancakes. They're gone before you even realized they were there.
In memory of a diner called Truck Stop along U.S. 2 in Michigan's U.P. And a waitress named Barb who charged us whole pie price rather than individual pieces for everyone which would have cost twice as much. And bringing out a massive commercial size whipped topping thingy, to boot. And Molly, (the snooty teen) serves you right your broccoli was overcooked and you went hungry. You should have had the chicken like we said.
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