June 18th, 2017
I went to a friend’s favorite breakfast spot yesterday for the simple reason that I was going to prove him wrong. I successfully did as my favorite breakfast place is most assuredly superior. It was worth a try though because at this good, but not outstanding breakfast venue I saw a strange and lovely thing. As my friend and I come into the rather tight waiting area I caught sight of a man at the counter eating his pancakes at an odd angle. We shuffled uncomfortably; we tried not to jostle fellow breakfasters as they silently eyed the few available chairs to the waitlist. I then spied a clipboard where names of those waiting appeared to be written. My friend and I dithered or you could say argued in a sound that resides just above a whisper as to whether or not we were supposed to wait for an employee to greet us and ask for our names or if, with the sun beating down on our backs as it came in from the big, front windows and our seats given up to an elderly couple that had just arrived, we should take the initiative on this one. Now I would describe myself as a shy and retiring sort of person when I am placed in new situations, or around strangers, or really anyone whom I have not sworn some sort of blood oath with. As you can imagine this narrows it down to a rather small number. The point is that as I moved I saw what made the man at the counter sit the way he was. There beside him eating pancakes off his plate with earmuffs on in the middle of June was a delicate, precious young girl. I realized she was exactly who I wanted to be: loved, daring, and eating pancakes. 45 minutes later the closest I would come was covered in maple syrup that erupted when the bus boy cleaning the table next to us dropped his load of dishes.