I’m Esther, and I might be 72, but I’ve still got the hustle of a teenager when I’m waiting tables at a little gem of a restaurant in small-town Texas.
It’s the kind of place where folks still hold the door for you and ask how your mama’s doing, even if they already know the answer.
I’ve been working here for over 20 years.
I might be 72, but I’ve still got the hustle of a teenager when I’m waiting tables.
Never planned on staying that long. Took the job after my husband, Joe, passed, just to get out of the house. I thought I’d work for a few months, maybe a year. But turns out I loved it.
The people. The routine. Being useful. It became my life.
And this restaurant? It’s where I met Joe. He walked in on a rainy afternoon in 1981, soaking wet, and asked if we had any coffee strong enough to wake the dead. I told him we had coffee strong enough to raise them.
He laughed so hard he came back the next day. And the day after that. And the day after that.
We got married six months later.
It’s where I met Joe. He walked in on a rainy afternoon in 1981.
So when he passed 23 years ago, this place became my anchor. Working there, I feel close to him. Like he’s still sitting at table seven, winking at me over his coffee.
The owner treats me well, and the regulars ask for my section.
I’m not fast like the younger waitresses, but I remember orders, I don’t spill, and I treat every customer like they’re sitting in my own kitchen. Most people appreciate that.
But last Friday, I met someone who didn’t.
The regulars ask for my section.
It was the lunch rush. Every table was full. The kitchen was slammed.
A young woman walked in with her phone already pointed at her face, talking to it like the rest of us were furniture.
She sat in my section. I brought her water and smiled.
“Welcome to our amazing diner, Ma’am. What can I get you today?”
She barely looked up and just kept talking to her phone. “Hey everyone, it’s Sabrina! I’m here at this little vintage diner. It’s so cute. We’ll see about the service, though.”
So that was her name. Sabrina.
She barely looked up and just kept talking to her phone.
She finally glanced at me. “I’ll have the chicken Caesar salad. No croutons. Extra dressing. And make sure the chicken is warm but not hot. I don’t want to burn my mouth on camera.”
I wrote it down and smiled. “Got it. Anything to drink besides water?”
“Iced tea. But only if it’s sweet. If it’s that fake sugar stuff, I don’t want it.”
“We make it fresh. You’ll love it.”
She turned back to her phone without responding.
“I don’t want to burn my mouth on camera.”
