Breakfast Theater.

If you know me you know I love the workers of the world, and if you don't know me, well I love the workers of the world. People who toil, carry, tote, construct, serve, drive, and dig are my people.  Most of my life has been spent in the lower middle class, much of it probably beneath that. So, I know a lot about working for a living. Though I never learned to drive a nail without splitting the wood or bending the nail it wasn't because of a sense that it was beneath me. In fact, it caused me to dig a lot of holes, carry a lot of boards, and follow the abusive, hollered instructions of people who were gifted enough to build things in a straight line, and follow a plan.

I was raised by a mother and an aunt who both spent years waiting tables. I saw, beyond doubt, the labor, the toll it took on them. I saw the pride they took in doing their job well. I know, anecdotally anyway the difficulties involved.

It is a common belief that anybody could wait tables, any fool would do. But, the fact is it requires a lot of time on your feet, and the ability to carry heavy plates of food through a cramped, crowded room filled with people restless people squirming in their chair, standing, twisting, raising their arms. And you have to do this without swearing. It can't be easy.

Last week we stopped at Scramblers for breakfast before we went to Swappers Day. My wife and I love going out for breakfast. We had a few bad experiences at Scramblers but we had a gift card with several dollars left and you can't throw it away. So, we bit the bullet and hoped for the best.

We were disappointed. The service was slow. Really slow. We were there early and still it was slow. There was a table with seven people right beside us, and they didn't have any silverware, which was ok, because they didn't have any food, and the waitress promised them silverware.

Their food came, but not their silverware. As the plates were being distributed another waitress came over and took the plate from in front of one of the people and said "that's my plate." The guy was dumbfounded. The waitresses started to snarl at each other. Snide comments about taking the food meant for someone else. I was hoping they wouldn't turn on the poor man who was so close to having breakfast. He had a plate full of food, all he needed was a fork and he was in business. Now he had nothing. At least the others at his table had food, if they had no way of eating it.

"I'll bring your silverware right over," the waitress said and vanished. One of the customers got up and went to the hostess table at the front of the restaurant and got table settings for everybody. Several minutes later the waitress brought a plate of food for the poor soul who had sacrificed his for another table, and silverware. She seemed upset when she saw they had gotten their own. She walked back and threw them down, with a clatter on the table by the computer.

We used the last of our gift card and won't be back. Even if the entertainment was notable. Next time we might be the table without utensils.

Don't forget to read this month's column at The Wild Word and vote for your favorite song.