I'm a waitress in the donut shop
I see him on his morning stop
He talks with a buddy speaking of his sweetheart
She gives him a rough time
He gives me his dime
She gives him a rough time
He gives me his dime
And then parts
Soft sighs
Soft and pretty moans
Truth be told, I don't know anything of the life of the waitress who served us. M had us
The waitress? She was maybe half their age and said all the right things to that couple,
What do I want from some poor lady trying to earn a living ... it must've been some time on an afternoon ... Maybe four days into our trip. Someone last week, an old friend, suggested that the waitress was suffering 'whiplash' .... she was being compared by me to the other waiters and waitresses that we had along our roadtrip. And I suppose my friend was right to point this out. Who says that our waitress had to measure up to some standard that I was establishing? She assuredly didn't. She was, to use my own
So, what is it that I want? wanted? not that I deserve or am entitled to for a $6 tip. But what do I want? I was, indeed, comparing her to a French Canadian Chocolatier who had served us coffee, tea, a scone and what appeared to us to be a genuine smile in her Inn in Southern Quebec.
Genuineness! Can a waitress in a donut shop offer up genuineness to dozens of 'easy overs' and burgers with and without fries day after leg-cramping day? And what is genuineness, anyway.
Many of the visitors to my office arrive asking something about how I'm doing ... I typically pause and think ... How am I feeling? Is it OK to answer honestly and genuinely and then to ask the same: "How are you?"
Are a psychotherapist and a waitress bound by the same rules of genuineness? And, if so, are we all? The day by day interactions ... the quotidian meetings in the supermarket, at the fish monger, walking to work in the morning and passing by another worker going off to work and watching the Fall leaves swoop across the street by a light morning wind ... is it possible we do, indeed, owe that other, that stranger, a genuine nod, a hello, a
recognition that they're there.
In dreams I can make you my own
She gives him a rough time
He gives me his dime
And then parts
Truth be told, I don't know anything of the life of the waitress who served us. M had us
looking in search of Indian Pudding ... a mix of cornmeal and molasses and milk, maybe
.... but certainly a mixture of memories she keeps ... eating at a restaurant of her childhood when her Father and Grandfather were there to eat with her. We were in an old New England roadside diner that had shellac covered curved wooden ceilings and was populated mostly by Players in the Last Quarter. Across from us was a couple. He once was maybe 6'5" and 250 pounds .... Once a big guy. Now, he walked carefully with a limp ... jeans and a heavy plaid shirt. She was thin ... maybe 75 years old and maybe too carefully dressed and coifed for this particular Greasy Spoon. They were taking care of each other.
.... but certainly a mixture of memories she keeps ... eating at a restaurant of her childhood when her Father and Grandfather were there to eat with her. We were in an old New England roadside diner that had shellac covered curved wooden ceilings and was populated mostly by Players in the Last Quarter. Across from us was a couple. He once was maybe 6'5" and 250 pounds .... Once a big guy. Now, he walked carefully with a limp ... jeans and a heavy plaid shirt. She was thin ... maybe 75 years old and maybe too carefully dressed and coifed for this particular Greasy Spoon. They were taking care of each other.
The waitress? She was maybe half their age and said all the right things to that couple,
to M and I, and to everyone else she served. She was not unattractive and maybe when
younger was very much so. But it was not her shape that attracted my attention but the manner in which, after saying 'the right things,' her freundlich demeanor dropped and was replaced by a cold disinterest, as she moved to her next customer.
younger was very much so. But it was not her shape that attracted my attention but the manner in which, after saying 'the right things,' her freundlich demeanor dropped and was replaced by a cold disinterest, as she moved to her next customer.
What do I want from some poor lady trying to earn a living ... it must've been some time on an afternoon ... Maybe four days into our trip. Someone last week, an old friend, suggested that the waitress was suffering 'whiplash' .... she was being compared by me to the other waiters and waitresses that we had along our roadtrip. And I suppose my friend was right to point this out. Who says that our waitress had to measure up to some standard that I was establishing? She assuredly didn't. She was, to use my own
language, a subject in her own right. I suppose so.
So, what is it that I want? wanted? not that I deserve or am entitled to for a $6 tip. But what do I want? I was, indeed, comparing her to a French Canadian Chocolatier who had served us coffee, tea, a scone and what appeared to us to be a genuine smile in her Inn in Southern Quebec.
Genuineness! Can a waitress in a donut shop offer up genuineness to dozens of 'easy overs' and burgers with and without fries day after leg-cramping day? And what is genuineness, anyway.
Many of the visitors to my office arrive asking something about how I'm doing ... I typically pause and think ... How am I feeling? Is it OK to answer honestly and genuinely and then to ask the same: "How are you?"
Are a psychotherapist and a waitress bound by the same rules of genuineness? And, if so, are we all? The day by day interactions ... the quotidian meetings in the supermarket, at the fish monger, walking to work in the morning and passing by another worker going off to work and watching the Fall leaves swoop across the street by a light morning wind ... is it possible we do, indeed, owe that other, that stranger, a genuine nod, a hello, a
recognition that they're there.
There is a magical moment that parents get to witness at just about four months. Little Jane or Johnny suddenly recognizes that Mom or Dad and the infant not old enough to take a first step or put spoon to mouth knows that a space is being shared ... a moment when two people stand in the same moment of time. Some have called this the Mirroring Phase ... I, in my mind, call it the Yee-Hah phase ... The little one is so thrilled by this recognition of simultaneous presence that a Weeeeeeee sound or a Texas Yee-Hah is let loose.
I suppose for me ... Here, in the Fourth Quarter, it still means all for me to know that
another is willing to share space and time with me. That's what I ... M and I, I dare say, want ... nothing more .... To share a piece of space time on this crazy journey we all take ... mostly alone.
another is willing to share space and time with me. That's what I ... M and I, I dare say, want ... nothing more .... To share a piece of space time on this crazy journey we all take ... mostly alone.
Nothing more.
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