Thought about Dad the other day

Monday I had some time to kill before a meeting started, so I wandered downstairs to the cafeteria. The kitchen wasn’t open yet, but I was able to get a Dr Pepper out of a vending machine, and I sat down at a table.

A woman, maybe late fifties, stoutish, hairdo, who worked there was setting out the plasticware in preparation for opening. I asked her if I could get a paper cup; she took me back into the closed area and got me a cup, and, seeing that I had a can of pop, got me some ice too. She said that ordinarily she’d have to charge me for the cup, but to forget it.

Her voice was hoarse, a smoker’s voice. She called me “Hon”.

I sat there drinking my soda and thought of Dad. He used to get a kick out of whiskey-voiced waitresses who called him Hon. There was a local steakhouse, Andy’s Diner, built from old railcars. All the waitresses there were seasoned pros who called you Hon. He loved that place. Miss ya, Dad.

Love stories like this. Sounds like Dad was an observer of the human condition. It wasn’t very often that I heard my dad comment on anyone like that, so the few times he did it was memorable.