“Can I get a donut, Gladys?” asked the customer with the black glasses. “And give me the one with lots of sugar!”
“Comin’ up, honey. Say, aren’t you supposed to be on a diet for your heart?”
“M’eh. I say you got to enjoy life, otherwise your heart stops beating anyway. But when I see you it always beats twice as fast!”
“You want a coffee with that?” Gladys answered, somewhat embarrassed.
“Yeah, but put a little milk in there, would you, otherwise it’s bad for the heart. And make it sweet, like your eyes.”
“What’s the special today?” another customer interrupted.
“Burger with bacon and blue cheese sauce.”
“I'll think about it.”
“Well don’t think too long or there won’t be any left!” Gladys warned him with a wink.
Gladys had been working at the Rosebud Diner for fifteen years, around half her life. She loved her work, even though some said it was a job for high-schoolers, or easy work for people with no pride. But there was nothing easy about keeping the Rosebud in business; you needed to know how to talk to the customers, especially the regulars, and come up with new recipes – nothing too fancy, of course, just a little something to keep them on their toes. You had to hold your head up straight every day, and keep your energy up all through the shift, always with a smile on your face and your dishes nice and clean. The most important thing was to be consistent: people liked things a certain way, and that’s how they got them. And when you messed up, which happens, you had to know how to make up for it; this was an art Gladys had perfected. Like anything, it was all a question of experience. If a burger was undercooked and sent back to the kitchen, Gladys would slide the diner a free milkshake. If the coffee was burned, round she came with a free donut. You always had to give little gifts, say you’re sorry, and go that extra mile. And you had to be good with people, which wasn’t something you could learn. Gladys knew all her regulars; she knew all about their families, their health, their jobs, and all their little worries and troubles. It was only natural she would take an interest in them and ask them questions, since the diners were what she loved most about her job. Most of the customers who frequented the Rosebud were men, and sometimes they teased her or flirted with her (playfully, for the most part), and through it all she had to remain courteous, knowing just when to draw the line, and even then to keep on smiling and show that she was a proud woman in spite of it all. Serving was an art, and Gladys was proud of hers.
Her life was repetitive, but she liked it. Every night, after the doors closed and the Rosebud’s neon light had been switched off, she worked carefully to prepare tomorrow’s sauces. She knew them all like the back of her hand, and Worcestershire was her favourite. She would never give up the secret to her sauce; she was keeping it for herself in case one day she had have her own diner car and would no longer be someone’s employee. Rumours had it the McDonald brothers had given up the secret for their Big Mac sauce for a measly hundred dollars. Gladys believed in the American dream.
“Thanks, honey!” Gladys smiled to a customer leaving the diner.
She rang a little bell, as she always did to thank the customers when they left a tip. The tips were what gave Gladys money to spend, instead of just to live off, and it was her generosity and kindly nature that enabled her to pocket so many of them. America had faith in the Lord; so it was written on all those one-dollar bills: “In God we trust.” Gladys believed in all that Americans believe: the eternal promise success and the endless bounty of the Lord.
Alan Alfredo Geday