jeanniejam

Heading out of town to dinner at the kids’, I’m wondering what to pick up for dessert. I call my daughter from the sweet shop downtown and ask for preferences. After a several moment pause to confer with her husband, she comes back with, “Chris says nothing fancy–just a lemon meringue pie.” Lydia is chuckling and I’m not because I’m wondering where in the heck I’m supposed to find that. She says he’s teasing, anything will be fine, but I know it’s really his favorite.

A quick look around and a chat with the baker confirms my suspicions–they don’t have one. They have a million other things, but no LMP. Crap. I’m in a hurry but I start thinking, “He doesn’t ask for much, its a little thing, and I’m going to find him the damn pie.

I think about it and sort of ask the question, “Who has my lemon meringue pie?” Don’t ask, but it works, as it often does and the answer comes to me. I should call the little bakery/cafe outside of town, and their pie would indeed be worth the trip. Find their number, make a quick call and the waitress puts me on hold. I know she’s checking with the cook in back, because the pies are hot commodities by-the-slice in the little cafe.

She comes back sounding kind of surprised and tells me, “There’s one whole one left, and he says you can have it!” I feel a happy surge and promise to be there in 10. For some reason I’m smiling all the way there . . . and I’m not surprised he said yes.

The parking lot is full, this little cafe has lots of local regulars. It reminds me of Cheers, but in a diner. I get inside and the tight little space is packed. Making my way up to the counter, I have to squeeze past a table of three elderly men, hunched quietly over their lunch. Luckily the fourth seat is pushed in and I can sit on an adjacent counter stool.

The waitresses are crazy busy, and I tell the one who answered the phone I’m not in a hurry for the pie. She pours me a cup of coffee and I’m set to wait for a few minutes.

I am so at home. I love little diners where you can just start chatting with people as though you’ve known them forever. I hear my daughter gently mocking me, saying, “Oh look, Jeannie’s making friends again,” and it cracks me up because it is true. Meanwhile I am unusually close to the table behind me, and I feel compelled to swing around and tell them I bet they didn’t know we’d be having lunch together. I feel like I’m practically sitting at their table.

Suddenly they become more animated. We banter, they chuckle and one of them even quips, “Ha! If we let you sit with us you might have to buy our lunch!”

By the amount of laughter, you’d think we’d shared a hilarious, joke, and in that moment we had. We’d made a human connection, and I swear it reached beyond their table. There was much more chatter as I sipped my coffee contentedly. They addressed their lunch with a bit more interest. My pie came and a peek into the box showed me it was a work of art, with mile-high meringue. I paid, gathered my stuff and headed toward the door feeling gratitude for the way things had turned out. As I took one more look at ‘my friends’, they nodded companionably and I stopped – just past their table. I‘d exchanged a glance with one of them who’s eyes twinkled and a spark ignited.

Pretending to forget something, I turned back to the counter to catch the waitress. When I whispered what I wanted to do, she was confused at first, but then her eyes registered delight and a little emotion. She quickly tells the other waitress, who starts shuffling through her pad saying, “All of them, the whole bill?”

The first waitress shushes her, adds the three checks together and takes my card. We’re sharing a secret now and its fun. She comes back a little misty-eyed telling me she knows these guys and I am going to make their day. She wonders what message she should give them, and I have to think about that for a moment. I want it to be a surprise – after I’m gone.

I have an idea to keep the vibe going. She can tell them I’m honored to buy their lunch. And, that I noticed the waitresses were working so hard, they should leave an extra tip. She shook her head with a wink.

I left grinning again with my now forty-something-dollar pie, thinking it was worth every penny. It would be a great pie. And I knew, in addition to whatever ripple effect our shared experience had, I’d get to relive the whole joyful event when I delivered my lemon meringue pie with a story.