Labor Day

Einstein was wrong. It IS possible to go faster than light. Just look at Terry behind the bar this labor day lunch hour.

The restaurant is slammed and Terry works the bar alone, taking care of not only the bar customers, but pouring beers and making drinks for all the customers in the restaurant—mixed drinks, frozen drinks, milkshakes, mudslides. Plus all the little time-stealers: making change for the waitstaff, answering the phone, handling to-go orders. Dirty dishes and glasses are stacked high at the end of the bar. I feel slightly guilty for coming in. "She really doesn't need one more customer to deal with" is what I'm thinking. I order a salad and sit and look around.

There are still a few empty barstools, yet a number of people are waiting for tables. If there are no seats at the bar I go someplace else to eat or drink. Yet I see people wait many minutes for a table when the bar is almost empty. There have been times when I was the only bar patron while customers waited for a table to become available. To each his own.

I dine on my salad and fill my tea glass from a pitcher placed fortuitously within my reach. While the waitstaff get their butts kicked, I relax, look at the day's paper, sip my tea, and observe the commotion. There are still empty seats at the bar.

Eventually it's time to leave. "Have a good one," I tell Terry, "and don't let it get to you."

"No," she answers. But that, of course, is easy to say, not so easy to do.

As I walk out the door, I have this idea for a book: "Zen and the Art of Bartending." I do believe Terry is qualified to write it.