Upon Their Shoulders

(Please click on the title for a reading aloud by the author.)

Last Friday night R. and I had a hankering for enchiladas and neither of us wanted to cook. R. suggested a dive place on Airport Road, and seeing how she tends to stay away from dive places and I love them, I jumped at the chance.

The parking lot was full. Winter’s early darkness obscured the scale of the place. There was a short wait and the aging hostess walked us to a table in the cavernous dining room. Except for a display of decorative plates along one wall, someone’s good intention but not altogether successful attempt to give the place some sense of hominess, it was without warmth or charm. The floor was industrial grade tile, the tables were dark imitation wood grain laminate, and the chairs were metal frame with skimpy vinyl upholstered seats and backs. Silverware wrapped in paper napkins sat on the tables without any place mat. In a word, it was grim. But is was busy.

The wait staff, all young women, all more than a little overweight, were on the move, delivering plates of tacos, enchiladas, burritos and carnitas. The gal who waited on us brought us samples of the chili (the green set us on fire so we opted for the red), took our order and was off. R. wandered into the lounge, also a busy place, to visit with a long time friend who was tending bar. She ordered a margarita, which would come to the table in a few moments.

I looked around at my fellow diners. Everyone was enjoying themselves. T.G.I.F.

One middle aged couple sat exposed at a table in the middle of the room. They had glasses of wine. They were overweight and looked worn out, tired; they talked and smiled. At a table closer to ours sat four younger people, three men and a woman. They were probably in their twenties, in the prime of life. One of the young men was very thin, pale and had dry hair.

Images of these people have surfaced in my mind all week. Upon their shoulders the work gets done. The trucks get driven, the houses built; the shelves get stocked and the trash collected. They are seen but not seen. There are no big surprises, there are no big disappointments.

Dinner in a stark dive at the end of the week might be as good as it gets.

Gordon Bunker