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The next morning, my travel alarm started beeping at 6 am NYC time, which is 5 am Owensboro time. I had just begun to sleep well—typical. Most of the night, I had tossed and turned, visions of the verdant hills of Kentucky and the blue Ohio River slipping below the plane, mustached men reaching for my throat, huge cars rattling, the speeding race on the expressway, and shouting cabbies rolling through my brain like an endless movie. Plus, I had waked up frequently, just knowing there was a cockroach in the bed somewhere. Long about 2 am, I had turned all the lights on, thinking that maybe that would keep the cockroaches away, and had finally fallen to sleep about 3:30 am.
I carefully dressed for my big meeting of the day in a business suit, and stuffed a change of field clothes in my small carryon bag for a trip to the well field. Leaving the room, I made my way down to the lobby, to inquire about a restaurant. (The night before, I had stayed in the hotel, timid in the darkness, and had made a nice meal of peanut butter brought from home, eaten with my fingers, because the kitchenette had no kitchen gear. Absolutely none. $90 a night for no table knife in the kitchen? Hrrrmmph!)
At the front desk, I inquired about available restaurants nearby. Actually, my exact words were along the lines of, "If I run down the road apiece, can I find some breakfast?" The woman at the desk looked at me blankly. Ok, try again. Using my best TV announcer/non-accent voice, I asked, "Ma'am, are there any restaurants within walking distance of the hotel?" Again, she looked at me blankly. I wondered, am I not speaking English?
Finally, the manager walked around the end of the desk and asked, "Can I help you?" Still in my best TV announcer voice, I asked him. He said, "Just go down the street and you'll find restaurants." But he gave me a sharp look, like what was wrong with me? Didn't I know that? Well, no, I didn't. I had no idea where to go, and just hoped I didn't have to pry that monster car out of the parking lot and have to parallel park it somewhere. If I could walk, it would be much easier.
I walked down the street past a lot of little shops, and finally found Nick's Palace, which looked to be open. There were people everywhere, and there didn't appear to be any open seats, certainly not any little bistro-like tables for two, where I could sit. Apparently, everyone just sat down and ate together, whether they knew each other or not. This is not customary at home, but ok, I'm game. It looked like everyone walked up to the main cash register, placed their order, found a place to sit, and then went back up to the counter to get their meal. There was no menu hanging up, so everyone must just ask for what they want. All I wanted was two eggs over easy, toast, bacon, and a cup of coffee. Please. So, I joined the line at the counter.
Right as I got up to the counter, the man who had been sitting and eating at a table near the counter, stood up and walked out. The dark-haired man behind the cash register, yelled after him, "HEY, you've got to pay!" The man just went out the door, and kept going. "HEY, YOU! You've got to pay!"
The counterman yelled back at the help in the kitchen, "He didn't pay!" One of the men in the kitchen strode out, and yelled, "Go get him! Make him pay!" The counterman was indignant, and I really couldn't blame him. You have to pay for what you eat. But the man's clothing was ragged--maybe he was just hungry. Back home, we don't let people go hungry if we can help it.
Everyone else in the restaurant ignored the situation, keeping their eyes to themselves and their plates. The counterman exclaimed again to an old man sitting next to the counter, "blahdeddyblahdeddyblahblah!" The old man looked up in disgust, and then—why, I do not know, but something prompted me, "I'll pay for his meal."
At this, everyone in the immediate vicinity of the counter stopped eating and looked at me. The counterman glared at me furiously, "Are you with that man?"
"No, sir, I'm not. But I'll pay for his meal." I said, feeling rightly that all eyes were upon me. What had I done? "I don't mind. Maybe he is homeless-- he looked hungry and tired. I'll pay for his meal, and that way, it will be alright. You won't have to chase him down."
The counterman looked at me cynically, and I repeated, "I have no idea who that man was. But I will pay for his meal. How much was it?" He rang up the charge and held his hand out for the money. I gave it to him, fumbling down in my purse, and he snatched it out of my hand.
The old man next to the counter barked an unintelligible word, but it sounded something like, "Barrrrarrracka!" The counterman stopped in his tracks and looked at the old man. He then carefully put the money in the cash drawer, closed it, and asked, "Whaddayawannaeat?" Everyone else in the restaurant returned to their meals, the little break in the monotony over.
I said, "Two eggs, over easy, with toast and bacon, and a cup of coffee, please." He looked at me blankly. So again, in my best TV announcer voice, I said, "I would like two eggs, scrambled, please, with toast, bacon, and coffee." He thought a moment, raised an eyebrow at me. I said, "Scrambled", and made the motion of beating eggs in a bowl. He nodded and wrote my order down. Funny how he understood me perfectly when the conversation dealt with money.
I looked for a place to sit, but all the seats were taken. The old man next to the counter motioned me to him. I walked over to his table, and he stood. He was wearing a black robe, and a large cross hung from his neck. His gray beard was truly magnificent! He opened his arms and waved me to the seat across the table from him. I sat quietly, smiled at him, and thanked him.
The old man sat back down, and opened his newspaper on the table in front of him. I waited quietly for my meal, which came out almost immediately. The counterman opened his mouth to tell me my order was here, but the old man gave him a sharp look, so he brought it to me at the table, handed me silverware, and then brought coffee with cream. I thanked him and he returned to his post.
The old man was looking at me, and his eyes were kind. I said, "Thank you for letting me sit with you." He looked up at the counterman, who came back to the table. The old man motioned me to repeat, and the counterman translated. Greek? I looked down at the newspaper—it was Greek! I knew the alphabet! Nothing else, but it was a start! I pointed to the letters in the newspaper, "sigma, alpha, nu, alpha, theta..."
The old man was delighted! I read out the letters and he pronounced the word. I repeated the word. He nodded helpfully, and we did another one. We played this game while I ate my meal, and then it was time to leave. I stood, and looked for the counterman. "Would you tell the man that I have enjoyed sharing his table, and that I thank him for his kindness?"
The old man listened carefully to his translation. Then, he spoke to the counterman, who translated for me, "My father says that you are to come here every day while you are here. This is our restaurant. He knows that you have traveled far, and he wishes to see you again. Come here for breakfast, every day, and he will teach you Greek."
Again, I thanked him for his kindness, and said that I would be very happy to see him the next day. Then the father stood, and motioned me toward him. He looked into my eyes, and gently made the sign of the cross on my forehead. He patted the side of my face, and leaned down and kissed my forehead. Tears filled my eyes, and I reached for his hand. I told him the only Greek word I knew, "Agape." Love. I held his hand and we nodded, both of us touched to the heart. Swift knowledge flashed, he knows that I am afraid and understands. My day was blessed. Whatever was before me, I could face it with courage.
I laid enough money on the table for the breakfast and a tip, and, smiling, went out the door to meet the day.
Next up: A fine Irish temper!
Links
The Saga of the Hick in New York City, Part 1
Part 2, How to rent a destroyer
Part 3, NASCAR racetrack, here I come, doo-dah, doo-dah
Part 6, I said "crews", not "cruise"
