Coffee Shops Part IV...

There was news of a death today, close enough that it hurt. The hurt will not quickly fade when I think of the family, especially the parents and the children, the cousins, and the aunts and uncles.

After a few hours of quiet processing or calls of consolation and planning, I sat in a Perkins restaurant, late at night, enjoying the sound of voices in the background and the music playing softly when it was not overwhelmed by the more immediate crashing of dishes and calling of orders. I was not quite ready for the silence of my hotel room. Grief is almost invisible at Perkins. Invisible not in what I was feeling but how I was acting. For a while it is nice for the acting to take over. Tonight all I wanted to do was to write. But the limit on the number of useful or helpful words that I could write to those in much more pain than I was about 15 or 20.

So I bought a card, went to Perkins, wrote my 15 or 20 words for the parents, dumped a couple more pages of inadequate words in my journal for myself, listened to the music, interacted with the two older waitresses and the young waiter, and grieved. One of the waitresses was shadowing the waiter, coaching him on every part of the interaction with the customers, directing him on what to say, whose order to take first - children, women and then men just like the life rafts - and which steps to take next to avoid unnecessary movement. On the way out I chatted with the other waitress about the training they were giving the young man. She had worked in Steakhouses but said that it was just as important to learn to do it the right way even at Perkins. I commented on the invaluable training I had at Sambo's as a young waiter. Her eyes lit up. She had worked at a Sambo's in California, in Riverside when she was young. She said, "They don't train them like that anymore." As I left my tip, I made sure to tell the waiter, "Listen well to the what the ladies are telling you." The waitress gave me a knowing smile that said, "If he listens to us, we'll have him in the best steakhouse in town."

Grief is almost invisible at Perkins. But the staring out the window, the moistening around the eyes as a new realization struck, and open card with muted colors and few words all provided a sign to the observant. The waiter was not quite observant yet. My polite, though constrained, smile and responses did not sink through. So, in addition to the tip, I decided to help the waitresses with their training project. I left the enclosure card that told of the words that were written inside the card I had been writing, "with heartfelt sympathy." It was in a place he would be likely to read before clearing it away, certainly the waitresses would notice. And that would give the waitresses one more opportunity to train the waiter. "You never know what people have just experienced so you need to treat them with respect, responding in kind." And then the other would say, "I could tell that there was something wrong, despite the smiles and the chatting. So you never know."

Grief, it isn't really invisible at Perkins. But that's okay, a small smile, polite interactions, and a common memory all help keep my feet on the ground.