I finally understand. The restaurant crush. Server love. All the places I went to and go to, hoping to see that special waitress or bank attendant. And I wonder if, all these years, there was more to in on the other end, beyond the niceties. My market women, my over the counter, little latte affairs are all women I look forward to seeing each weekend. Wondering if she's come by at 2pm because she knows I'm closing then. Waiting for that first introduction, which must come from the customer, her name first, an invitation to look at the house master and mistress when we cross on the stairs.
We're the ones who are blameless, reliable, friendly, providers of caffeine and care, nice and interested in you even on your worst days. And it works, and feels good, because I do care. But it also works because it also isn't real. I'm the perfect few minutes in everybody's day.
12:37:47 AM 
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