A Letter to My First Love

January 24, 2018 13:42

"I'm alone. In Brazil.

By myself, yet, surrounded by thousands.

It's a weird feeling.

No, no not being alone:

being free.

I do miss you

Well, sometimes.

Let's be honest, I wouldn't have gotten here without you.

So, thanks.

I just ordered a burger, I think

Not real sure, the menu was in Portuguese.

Either way no one can beat your cooking;

That's what I miss the most.

Look, I'll probably never send this,

but I need to write what it's meant to know you.

With that:

____________

Dear Famous Daves,

Oh, my first love.

Working for you was a dream come true.

No, really!

I’ve laughed way too much, met all types of beings, gotten my feelings hurt, and yet still saved enough to be writing this letter at a burger joint in Rio de Janeiro.

But I’m going too fast:

(^^2009 Trip to Dave's in Woodbury)

Tal and Steve were married in 2005, and after we settled into our new normal in Woodbury, we started a Wednesday tradition of Famous Daves. I don’t remember what her name was, but we had a waitress who began memorizing our orders. I thought that was the coolest thing! My favorite meal was buffalo wings with fries and cornbread and a Sierra Mist. A few months into the ritual, I declared “When I grow up, I’m gonna work here and get free buffalo wings!”

(^^too busy for a selfie? lame)

Now we fast forward ten years. Sophomore in college. I became really dissappointed in myself for watching ‘the Office’ series in three weeks. Like, that’s really bad. Not wanting to be a victim of boredom, I searched a few restaurants around the area. Ruling out Perkins and Grumpy’s, I found Famous Dave’s not too far down the street. I remembered the indignant claim i made as a child, and figured this my opportunity to make my dream come true. 

The day after applying, I got a call from the manager asking for an interview! I showed up way too formal; completely overdressed. Like why was I in a suit to be a waitress. Wow. I met the boss of the joint a few moments later and they offered the job on the spot. Yay! And so it began, the next year of my life. 

Unfortunately, after an incident with another black waiter and white waiter, where the young black man was unjustly treated, I quit in solidarity. Fast forward ten months, I went to Italy, came back and had no money. Not quite wanting to become a stripper, I borrowed some courage and re-applied for the same job.

(Maybe I’m not as down-for-the-cause as I thought.)

And here we are! I’m three weeks away from my last shift (as I’m soon heading to Brazil, and am doing well financially as an artist), and I wanted to, in no particular order,

share some of the most memorable moments and things I’ve learned as a waitress at Famous Daves:

(^^when squad 1 came through!)

---

.Five black boys taking the bus from St Paul trying to hustle people into giving them free things. I caved and got them a Dave’s sampler with chicken tenders and fries. No older than 10, one of them asked my number - as I’m sure he’s learned this from someone - and to his surprise, I gave it to him. All the boys laughed. Ha! I swear they’re puppies chasing a fire truck: what’ll you actually do once you catch it? They left with fries and tenders sticking out their pockets into the winter’s black sky. I never saw them again, but I wish them all joy.

.Bobbie and Leroy. A light skinned black couple that became regulars; she, always ordering fried chicken and, he, always looking like Jesse Jackson. One quiet night, I remember, they told me that the secret to being married 40 years is God. That there were times they didn’t think they were gonna make it, "but God". Their grand daughters are gorgeous little things. The oldest sat on her phone the whole time, and it made me sad. Bobbie looks like my Grandma Faye did; enjoy her while she’s here, young one. She can’t live forever.

.Placing an order for a woman who’s face was burned nearly off

.For a woman whose head was extremely small

.How 96% of Hispanic families got All-American Feasts

.How 96% of Black people get rib tips

.How I’m surprised when I see a 20-something black man who walks with poise and his shirt tucked in

.How I’m saddened when I see a 20-something black man wear Mary Jane like an expired cologne

(^^when squad 2 came through!)

.Nathaniel and Jerrie Loche. They came in this last weekend, actually. A light-skinned black couple (it’s important that I clarify shade) that’s been married for 55 years. He, with a shiny bald head and thick brown mustache in a beige suit. Her with a curly wig, red dress suit and sun kissed skin. When they came to the counter, after Sunday service of course, I got the uneasy feeling to ask them how long they’d been together. When I asked how it was even possible, she answered “God. Two months after marriage we met Him; we wouldn’t have made it without Him”. 8 kids and 19 grandkids later, the two came to celebrate her 79th birthday over some barbecue. Yay God. They got me thinking: maybe its okay to be patient. I mean I’m 20, right. If I met my guy tomorrow, and was committed to a lifelong relationship, and I lived until 80.. I’d be with this man for 60 years!!! I guess its okay to be patient right now. Cause once he’s here.. he’s here! Ha!

.If you get along with your coworkers, the most mundane work can be amazing

---

Its funny how all of theses stories have happened in the same space; 

within the same walls.

I guess that’s the prayer I have for myself.

For you, too, Dave's. 

That I,

we,

would foster -

steward, rather, 

walls. 

That within them:

create life, fill bellies, ask for tears and beg for laughs.

(With some barbecue every so often)