Morning at the Diner

It is a dark, rainy day at the last diner standing. Only a few of us braved the storm to come get our coffee and eggs any style.

There’s a special camaraderie among people who brave storms to come together, whether it is to a diner, to work, or to church. You feel like part of a special breed and knowing just how nasty it is out there, you have a special appreciation for the others who made the effort.

So there’s lot of laughter. Smiles. Stories shared. People linger longer than most mornings. Before I even sat down, I took time to talk to everyone here. There’s the group I call the “Businessman’s Club”, who run several businesses throughout the town. They come in about seven every morning, seven days a week. Then there is the “Friday Morning Ladies Club”, a group of women, smart and busy with businesses of their own that come in once a week or so, always om Fridays. Their conversation is quieter, more intense.

There is an older gentleman who slowly and gingerly walks in with a book in his hand every day. The book is always well worn, like something he may have gotten at a used book store. The titles change every day or few. He is pleasant, but not talkative. Books are where he spends his mind.

At the counter is a middle aged man who wears the same sweatshirt almost every day. Dark green with the logo of the diner on the back of it. He’s related to the owner (and the several of the other people who work here who are also related to the owner.). He mumbles and grumbles the whole time he is here, sardonic and sarcastic, but always leaves with a “Love ya!. Bye”, which is returned by nearly everyone in the place.

At the far end of the counter is an older veteran. He likes me because he too drives a convertible. Every time we meet, there is a conversation about whether or not it is a convertible day. He fist pumps instead of handshakes or hugs. I met him, not at the diner, but at a funeral I did for another Veteran a few years ago, a gentleman I had never met but whose family had no church or preacher. The funeral director (Part of the Friday Morning Ladies Club) asked me to do it. Evidently the older vet liked the sermon. The next day he came into the diner and asked me to do his funeral when the time comes. I agreed and he went over to the Funeral Director and told her. Small towns are… different. Often, at the end of the morning, he points to me and just says “Remember”. We both know what he is talking about.

There are others. Friends, some of them. Others are just nodding acquaintances. Regulars.

DIners like this are like a family dinner. People jump in and out of each other’s conversations, getting their two cents worth in, or asking questions. Some of them I know well. A few I do not.

I have been coming here regularly since my favorite diner closed a couple of years ago. Before that, for a decade or more, I came a couple of days a week, when my favorite diner was closed.
Go to a place regularly, and people learn about you, who you are, what you do, your politics, and your nature. Some days I walk in, say a round of Hellos, and some days people wander to the table and plop down.

On those days, I feel like Lucy in the Peanuts cartoons, with my “The Doctor is In. 5 Cents” sign. I never know what might come my way on any given day. But I seem to be a valued listener, and we use our gifts where we can. Even at the diner.

Being listened to, I have learned, is a deep, deep need. For the most part people do not feel heard. Not at home. Not at work. Not with their families. Certainly not in politics. And we need that. It’s part of what makes us feel valued. It does not seem to be a big deal to me. I am a natural listener. But I have learned how important it is to people, and how few have someone to talk to, really talk to. So if it interrupts my plan for the morning, that’s OK.

It is good to be useful. However, we are useful. I have work of course. I pastor two churches and paint and write and coach and consult, but honestly, sometimes I think the place I am most useful is here at my local diner. More than food or atmosphere or coffee, it’s why I come.

Be well. Travel wisely,

Tom

PS: The picture is of my favorite diner. I took a picture on my phone of where I am this moment, but ran out of juice before I could send it to myself.