The rising sun gently kissed the sleeping land on the cheek. As it stirred, the sky pulled back the deep purple blankets revealing a frosty fall morning. A new day had begun for a small town in a small state. And in an even smaller cafe sat a man trying to find his pulse.
“I’m glad Edison invented coffee,” Fred said to Sally the waitress as she refilled his cup.
Sally rolled her eyes and said, “Edison didn’t invent coffee. Michelangelo did.”
Fred Evison was much like the small town he lived in: Both had seen better days. The town was full of rotting wood, peeling paint and abandoned buildings. Fred was overweight, exhausted and full of abandoned dreams. He took another sip of the cafe’s coffee. It tasted like crap but had caffeine in it. That’s all Fred really cared about.
He needed to get his brain restarted. “Hell,” he thought,”I need to get my life restarted.”
The Great Recession had cut through the town like locusts with a thyroid problem. The mill closed and went to China. The car dealership had been closed by GM. Four of the local stores were put under by the Walmart out on the bypass. Several families had already pulled up stakes to look for work. There was still a heartbeat but it was feint.
Fred took another sip and wondered it what to do next. No jobs meant no hope. No hope meant the town would wither up and die.
A Christmas tune cheerfully played on the radio. Fred wasn’t totally sure if he would take the song’s advice to “Have a Merry Little Christmas.” Another sip of coffee and another jolt of warmth sliding to his chilled heart.
Fred had worked at the local paper and had lost his job as a writer. “It’s just business,” is what the editor told him as he handed him the pink slip. It wasn’t just business to him; it was personal. The editor hadn’t had to see his wife cry. He hadn’t had to find a way to pay for his baby girl’s surgery. The editor still had a job.It was easy to be as bitter as the coffee as he was drinking.
But he wasn’t. He was just tired. And hurt.
He came to the restaurant every morning looking for coffee and answers. At least he found coffee.
Fred Evison was a storyteller and right now, the story he’d tell about himself wasn’t very interesting. In fact, if he had a musical soundtrack, it would’ve been a sad trombone.
He picked up the menu to read the breakfast specials.
Pity Party sampler. $5.99
Fred looked around. Was Sally playing a joke on him? He picked up another menu and it said the same thing. He looked back down and adjusted his reading glasses.
Find Great Stories to Tell with a side of bacon $6.99
Fred looked around and wondered what the heck was going on. The next menu item made him pause again.
Bowl of “Be a Voice for others in the same boat as you.” $2.99
Passion with a side of ham. $3.99
Use your talent, don’t just sit here and drink coffee with pancakes. $4.99
Fred’s hands were shaking at this point. He had found answers with his coffee after all! For the first time since he had been downsized, he felt the passion rise in his soul. His heart warmed on its own, no need for boiling-hot coffee. Fred left a huge tip and walked out of the restaurant with his chest puffed out and his pride restored. The door’s clanging bell announced that Fred Evison had left the building.
Sally walked back out, pocketed the tip and said, “He’s gone.”
Fred’s wife emerged from the kitchen with a smile on her face. “Sally, you’re absolutely the best actress ever. That was Oscar-worthy.”
“I was in Hollywood in my 20’s,” Sally grinned. “That’s where I learned how to wait tables. He read those menus and didn’t suspect a thing.”
“The poor man needed a sign so I gave him one,” his wife said. “I printed the menus up last week. He was so self-absorbed he was clueless. Thanks for helping me pull it off.”
“No problem. Love your husband to death but he has been about as much fun as a canker sore lately.”
Both women laughed and watched as Fred Levison headed into the new day and into the next phase of his career.
I love the truth in this one. How many times have I had “The Pity Party Sampler”.