Memories Of A Diner

We all went out to dinner the night before my daughter’s birthday.
She chose an Italian restaurant that does not accept reservations or call-ahead seating.
We people-watched a bit, seeing a few people we knew.
We talked through a glass window to a little boy who thought we were entertaining.
His parents were delighted that we kept him occupied during the wait.

We had a pager that vibrates and lights up when your table is ready.
Everyone pretended not to look, but we all checked the pager just in case.
It seemed like everyone was eating out that night.
The wait didn’t matter as long as we were together.

When I was a girl there was a well-known diner in South Philadelphia.
It was called the Melrose Diner.
It has been in operation since 1935 and is still going strong.
In fact, if you Google the name, you will get a description that sums it up nicely.

Melrose Diner is a veritable South Philadelphia institution.
Best known for its friendly service, delicious baked goods and iconic shared booths…

There was even a radio jingle, back in the day, which became its slogan.
Everybody who knows goes to Melrose.
I still remember the tune.

I was telling my children about that special diner as we waited for our table.
At least we had seats to sit on as I told them my memories.

When you went inside the diner, you saw before you the famous counter.
Many people chose to sit there and read the paper as they ate their meal.
The stools were red and they swiveled.
The waitresses never quit; many worked there for years and knew the customers by name.

Loud hellos greeted the regulars.
If you came to the diner as a family, you were in for a unique experience.

On the other side of the restaurant, were the booths.
Horseshoe-shaped booths with Formica tables that you had to slide into to sit down.
The key to the Melrose Diner was the technique with which you acquired a seat.
You basically staked your claim and marked your territory.

You literally stood in front of a booth where no one was waiting.
You turned your back on the customers who were eating their meal and you waited.
You waited until they were done.
You moved out of the way enough so they could slide out of the booth and you slid in!

Since I was an only child, there were only three of us in my family.
We were too small for a whole booth, so we only needed half of a booth.
More to consider as we scoped the diner looking for a booth to share.
When the one side was finished their meal, we were able to take their spot.

Of course, that meant talking to the strangers across from you.
Strangers that quickly became friends as you ate together.
At the end of every booth was a coat rack.
It was almost like a shell game as you lifted one coat to find yours buried beneath.

Many politicians came to the Melrose on their campaign tours.
Shaking hands, holding babies, having coffee at the counter was expected.
You didn’t campaign until you stopped at the Melrose.

Actually, as I sat and waited for our table the other night, I was wistful.
Ridiculously wistful for something I never truly appreciated at the time.
Diner food, cakes and pies displayed openly, already sliced and on a plate.
Open view of the kitchen with waitresses yelling orders to the cook.

Wistful for simplicity and forced togetherness!
We are so isolated, so solitary, so territorial, we cringe at the thought of shared anything.
Forced togetherness.
Be nice mentality.
Really not so bad after all.

They devoted themselves to the apostles’ teaching and to the fellowship, to the breaking of bread and to prayer. Everyone was filled with awe, and many wonders and miraculous signs were done by the apostles. All the believers were together and had everything in common. Selling their possessions and goods, they gave to anyone as he had need. Every day they continued to meet together in the temple courts. They broke bread in their homes and ate together with glad and sincere hearts, praising God and enjoying the favor of all the people. And the Lord added to their number daily those who were being saved. (Acts 2:42-47)

Before the coming of the Holy Spirit, it was forced togetherness.
After Pentecost, when the Holy Spirit was poured out on the believers, it was sheer joy.

Friendship.
Fellowship.
Shared possessions.

Glimpses of that, a long time ago, at a diner.
Only so much better!

 

2 responses to “Memories Of A Diner”

1. Sweet friend! I so feel the presence of God in your writing. I have subscribed to your blog and will encourage my friends to do the same. Been insanely busy with work since returning from UVA – just know I am here and SO proud of what you are doing!!

   Reply

   • Lisa,
     So many memories…so many years…a journey of “whispers”.
     Your words of encouragement mean so much to me.
     How special you are to me!
     Gina

     Reply