Mom continued.
“I’m sixty-eight years old.”
“I have worked here since I was twenty-four.”
“I’ve raised children.”
“Paid taxes.”
“Bought groceries.”
“Buried friends.”
“Helped customers celebrate births, anniversaries, graduations, and retirements.”
She looked around the diner.
“And I’ve served coffee to people who had just received the worst news of their lives.”
For a moment, her voice trembled.
“This is a real job, Michael.”
He started crying.
Mom nodded.
“I’m glad you understand that now.”
I felt tears running down my own cheeks.
Because in all my years watching Mom work, I’d never heard her speak so openly about what those years had meant.
Michael wiped his eyes.
“Is there anything I can do?”
Mom thought about it.
Then said,
“Yes.”
He looked up hopefully.
“Tell me.”
“The next time a waitress gets your order wrong, remember she’s a person.”
Michael nodded.
“And if you’re having a terrible day, don’t make her carry it home.”
