A young girl took our order and the orders of several other couples and families, alternately disappearing through some swinging doors to, presumably, the kitchen. After one or two disappearances – and no coffee in sight for anyone – we all began helping ourselves to the pot of coffee at the server’s station. Then an argument could be heard coming from the kitchen. Another order taken, another disappearance, and then the sound of yelling and banging… and then what sounded like outright war as pots and pans could be heard clanging against hard objects! Those of us in the restaurant sat wide-eyed… Some people left. A door SLAMMED, and a few minutes later, a young guy who appeared to be a cook of some kind appeared in the dining room and announced that the waitress had quit but, “the manager is coming.” The dining room emptied.
Outside, as I steered the car toward the parking lot exit, I saw the young waitress, red-eyed and teary, walking across the pavement. I drove to her, rolled down my window and, in an effort to cheer her up, said, “You know, we’ve all had jobs like that and days like this.”
She looked at me through swollen eyes and said just two words: “I’m pregnant.” I could only say, “I’m sorry.” And what I should have said but didn’t, was that I’ve had that happen too, and you will be okay.