morning at the diner

This morning, I got up early and took my laptop to my local diner to edit for a couple of hours before work. It’s just that time of year, still.

An MTA bus driver came past my table in the corner on his way to the bathroom (my local diner sustains itself by allowing the bus drivers idling between stops to come in and use the bathroom for free—I think the drivers support them on the other end with take-out orders at breakfast and lunch).

This driver stopped in front of my table and said, “Hey, you got a good WiFi connection here?”

“Oh, I’m not using the internet,” I said. Maybe a little irritably—I was concentrating.

“Oh!” He looked a little surprised, then disappeared around the corner to pee.

By the time he made his way back a minute later, he had had a chance to figure out what I could possibly be doing in public with a computer if I wasn’t on the internet. He leaned over the chair opposite me, tapped the table with a notion of conspiracy, and smiled through his bushy handlebar. “I hope you’re writing some good stories.”

I smiled back at him. As he left, I said—under my breath, just so I could write it down here later—“I wish.”

Take-home points:

1) He probably thought I was much younger than I was. The winking go-get’em-tigerishness of it all. Or maybe not.

2) How sweet, that in the event I (or some other person like or unlike me) were to take up writing stories, this one bus driver would be rooting for them.

3) Shoring up by philosophy of 21st-century creativity—it is a truth universally acknowledged that a young wo/man in possession of a word processor must be in want of a book deal [if s/he is not in want of a high-speed connection to Facebook] [or let’s be honest, s/he probably wants both].

Advertisements
This entry was posted in Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink.

3 Responses to morning at the diner

  1. JES says:

    …diner [lets] the bus drivers […] use the bathroom […]– the drivers support them on the other end

    Haven’t lost your delicate sense of humor, I see.

    People who approach complete strangers and strike up random conversations are, I think, aliens. A biscuit to you for responding civilly and then remembering the whole thing long enough — including the analysis — to tell us about it. (My favorite line: under my breath, just so I could write it down here later. Ha!)

  2. Oh, I love this! I once had a really nosy but well-meaning dental hygienist ask me all about my writing while cleaning my teeth. She was so genuinely thrilled for me, though she hardly knew me, and I was only answering in garbled half-English while she scraped at me with sharp little instruments. Sometimes I feel that I appreciate the kindness of strangers more than that of friends.

  3. Wisteria789 says:

    Like!

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s