Here comes a regular
They were having a grand old Saturday night kind of time at Johnny's Pizza around when I walked in, dog-tired from working literally non-stop from noon to eight on a day I usually have off. I noticed the two old school regulars hanging out at Counter Culture, the little back counter by the pizza ovens where the regulars are so regular that they'll bring your order to you or ring you up at the register if the waitresses or cooks are running behind.Last night, Those Guys were joking around with a large group of friends at a table opposite me. I ate alone at a booth, but was totally amused by their ongoing conversation. On my way to pay up, I cracked a joke with the table bunch that got them all laughing. Heading back their way towards the rear door, the table group invited me, a complete stranger, to pull up a chair and join them. And I did. Then I was drawn into a conversation with Those Guys about random, silly things. Finally, I had to bow out and take my leave. "Okay, darlin', we'll catch you next time we see you here. Be careful drivin' home," Joe, the guy who's manned the register before in times of chaos, said as I waved goodbye, thanking them for the company. Mike, the other guy, gave me the signature smile and "Later" half-wave I've seen him send so many folks off with over the years.
"Saturdays in the South" was the name of the special newspaper section I'd been posting online all day. It detailed what Southern fans loved most about game day Saturdays during college football season. But for me - overly tired and feeling a little bit lonely, even in such a friendly, familiar place - this particular Saturday in the South was special because Atlanta's traded a lot of its Southern hospitality in for transplated, artificial urban swank over the years. And so it was comforting to be among the real Atlantans like myself, the real Southerners who still think of ourselves as just folks and who consider everybody a regular as soon as they come through the door.
posted by rekkidbraka @ 11:05 AM
2 Comments:
In my head, this totally took place in Mystic Pizza...even though that was New England and not the South. Whatever.
That's really great, I can't remember the last time I talked to a stranger (that wasn't a crazy person). All us Yankees need a double dose of Zoloft just to avoid pushing people into traffic on a daily basis.
It's funny. I've totally been one of those regulars in some places in Las Vegas. I've ended up serving people when I was not part of the staff. Of course it helps when you've worked in food service before but I pretty much just take it as a natural instinct. Kinda like how my brother will start fixing CDs on the shelves of a record store (old habit from his days working at Tower). There was this one sushi place where I was such a regular the owner knew what the first order was before I even sat down. I miss being a regular like that. I don't frequent places here in SF like I did in Las Vegas and if I do it's usually to go so I don't end up being a familiar face.
Glad to see that Southern hospitality is alive and well in Atlanta.
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