Good Food On Bad Hair Days
Story by Sadies Céng
We’ve all been there — felt the racing-thoughts or thought-lags, queasy stomach, and sweaty palms which accompany the pressing need to escape; to escape the dread of an impending deadline, mundane work day, or grown-up task that brings challenges we’d rather face: A) never, B) after pulling the covers over our heads and snoozing indefinitely, or C) possibly after winning the lottery.
It was on such a day as this that I met Chris. Holding her white-flip notebook and black pen, she approached the tan and white booth where my husband-to-be, Jon, and I sat feeling the crushing weight of final exams, seating-chart stress, and the overall uncertainty of the future.
“Can I get you two started with anything to drink?” she asked.
I looked back and forth between the menu and my sweetheart, avoiding direct eye contact with her in an effort to hide my puffy, red eyes.
With his slender, healer’s hands, Jon tightened his grip in mine, attempting to both comfort me and signal that one could only pause in silence for so long while ordering without seeming rude.
“Two waters, please,” he said with a slight Chinese accent and a pause that was long enough to be only slightly awkward — probably just as she was wondering if we had even heard her question.
She seemed not to have noticed our awkward tension, nor the imbalanced ticking of time — which speeds by all of the good events and elongates all of the stressful ones, like the one we were experiencing.
“Are you ready to order?” she asked.
My eyes darted to sneak a peek at her, and I found my eyes having to angle upwards more than anticipated to catch a glimpse of her short, curly grey and white hair.
Patiently, and without missing a beat, she added, “Or would you like a little more time?” I felt the smile in her words, even though I wasn’t looking.
Still on the verge of another bought of stress-induced tears, I looked at Jon, without saying a word.
“Uhm… just another minute,” he said, hastily adding a “thank you” as she turned to bring our glasses of water.
By the time she had returned, we had finished a hasty series of whispers, cheek-wiping, and pointing at glossy menu photos to decide our orders.
We ordered a series of breakfast foods: french toast, eggs, hash browns, the works, somewhere in that time-zone one questions whether it is early morning or late night.
As the golden syrup dripped over the pancakes and the blend of ketchup and hot sauce added a layer of spicey-softness to the crisp, golden hash browns, life began to feel more manageable.
With perfect timing, Chris refilled our waters and topped-off our coffees.
Finding it increasingly difficult to be too upset with a plate of sunny yellow eggs in front of us, Jon and I smiled at eachother once more between bites of food.
After clearing the plates to the side, it was time to wash my hands and get to work on the dreaded math equations, preparation for an exam that stood between me and my transfer, life-plan timeline.
On my way out of the restroom, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror: curly, crazy hair in a sloppy bun, bags under my eyes from yet another all-nighter, and drips of syrup on the front of my over-sized t-shirt.
I looked a hot-mess, but with a belly full of overly-caloric deliciousness, the stress and weight of the world took a mini break from my shoulders, and returned to those of Atlas’.
I returned from the restroom as Chris was dropping off the check and saying, “there’s no hurry.” There was an added air of wisdom to her words and a peacefulness to her presence.
She was right.
There wasn’t any hurry. We were only in our twenties with the rest of our lives ahead of us to achieve our dreams.
I scooted back into the booth, looked her in the eyes, and smiled.
Jon and I returned to that same Norm’s many times over the course of the semesters and months leading up to our wedding. We’d often work from that awkward “is it night or is it morning? hour” until the sun’s rays and singing birds filtered through the large glass-paned windows and left no doubts about it.
We didn’t always eat mountains of syrupy bread — because, after all, I had a wedding dress to fit into, but through the stress, there was Chris, who reminded us with her gentle ways and topped-off coffees that:
Sometimes all it takes to make bad-hair-days better is enjoying good food in good company.
