Terry
By
Phil Madsen, Expediter
(Written January 31, 2008 for publication on SuccessfulExpediters.com.)
It's Thursday. I am sitting in Albany, New York with no freight to haul and no codriver on board. I dropped Diane off at the Albany airport on Tuesday. She flew home for a dental appointment. I am passing time in the truck and around town, waiting for her to return. It is less expensive to fly her home and back to the truck than it is to drive the truck home.
Time goes slow when Diane is not in the truck. We have been driving trucks together for more than four years, and have been pretty much together the whole time. Between runs, we take our "me time" breaks for a few hours here and there. But except for rare times like these, we have been together every night since August, 2003. Now she is away. I like it better when she is here.
Anyway, that's not what I want to write about today. I want to write about another woman. She was the bright spot for me on a day that was sunny outside but cloudy in my heart.
With Diane out of the truck, I have been going to restaurants to eat. While I could easily cook in the truck, going to restaurants gets me out of the house, so to speak. If I was a solo driver on the road, and by myself most of the time, I would eat in the truck. But for the few days Diane is gone, restaurant eating gets me out and among people.
Last night, I ate a late supper at an Old Chicago restaurant. There were more empty tables than full. Seating was immediate. I left my jacket on because of the cold air coming out of the ceiling vents, but was otherwise comfortable in my seat. A waitress took my drink order (Pepsi) and returned shortly for my meal order (cheeseburger and fries).
I read a book I brought along as I waited for the food to arrive. In about the time you would expect, it did. A young man approached me from behind and said, "Here's your food." Before I could even look up from my book and turn around to see who he was, he had left the plate on the table and was walking quickly away.
As I reached to the far end of the table to bring the plate in front of me, it took a raised voice to get his attention and ask for ketchup. He brought it from a nearby table without making eye contact or saying a word. With most tables empty, I was not sure what the hurry was, but he was clearly in one. I went back to my book and to work on the fries.
About two-thirds of the way through my meal, the waitress returned and asked if everything was OK. The burger was delicious and the fries OK. Now a bit leery of this wait staff, I nodded and she left.
I finished my meal and waited for the check. But my waitress (or server as they call them now days) was no where to be seen. I did not mind as I had only an empty truck to return to and a good book to read. Though, I would have enjoyed a Pepsi refill.
After more time passed, my server was nowhere to be found. Wanting to leave, I packed up, walked to the unmanned desk by the front door and asked a server who was passing by for my check. She asked me what my server looked like. I answered and she went off to find her.
After a few minutes, my server approached me where I stood, held out the check for me to take, said, "I'm really sorry." and hustled off the instant I took it. That left me standing at the front door irritated and wondering how long it would be before I saw her again.
Realizing I was going down a negative path, but not wanting to stop, I talked silently to myself. What good does the check do if she is not there to take my credit card and process payment? Didn't she get it that I was ready to leave? I'm not at the table. I'm standing at the front door with my jacket on.
She did not return right away so I sat down on the bench normally used by customers waiting for a table. She finally returned for my card and disappeared one more time when I gave it to her. This time, she returned quickly with my card and the check to sign. Once those items were in my hand, she ran off again, leaving me with no one in sight to give the check to.
I drew a slash through the line where a tip is normally entered, left the signed copy on the desk where I hoped someone would find it and left. It occurred to me to walk out without paying but I didn't because I knew I would regret it later. It also occurred to me to complain to the manager but I did not do that either. I was not in the mood to fight or gripe. I just wanted to go.
Such will by my memory of Old Chicago every time we see one in our future travels. There are lots of restaurants on the road. It is unlikely that we will enter an Old Chicago restaurant again.
This morning, I woke up a little after sunrise and did some web site work. It felt great to finally publish the upgraded pages I have been working on for a long time. Time went quickly as I lost myself in that work. When I felt hungry for breakfast and looked at the clock, I was surprised to see it was noon.
It is not like a car when you drive a truck. You don't just hop in and go when it is time to go. You need to secure for running, as Diane and I call it. That means put away all the loose stuff in the sleeper, update the log books, and if the truck has not been driven yet that day, do a pretrip inspection. If a pretrip has been done, do a quick walk around to make sure everything is clear under the wheels and around the truck before moving it.
I arrived at an IHOP restaurant about 12:30. Hungry, I was looking forward to one of my favorite breakfasts. In the middle of the lunch hour the place was busy but a table was available and I was seated. The hostess gave me a menu but I would not need it. When my waitress arrived, she asked me what I wanted to drink. I said "coffee, and I'm ready to order."
This waitress was of a different sort. She made eye contact. She smiled. She was old enough to be the mother of the server I had last night. I got it immediately that had she been that mother, last night's server would have been more gracious and worthy of the title.
As my IHOP server poured my coffee, she asked what I would like. "Pigs in a blanket with a side order of hash browns," I said with some certainty. She surprised me when she said this store does not have pigs in a blanket on the menu. My facial expression and tone amused the people at the table next to me. "You don't have pigs in a blanket? I just had them at an IHOP in Dallas a couple weeks ago!" She explained that menus differ among IHOP stores.
As I sat there confused, this woman with a motherly way and heavy New York accent took charge. She opened the menu and showed me pancakes and sausage. The order came with four sausages and three pancakes. She said she could have the cook wrap three of the sausages with the pancakes. I said that would be OK.
When she returned with my food, she had four sausages, each wrapped in a pancake. She said she changed my order to all the pancakes I could eat (a menu item) and a side order of sausage. That would be cheaper than what I originally ordered and it got me my pigs in a blanket. The hash browns came too, perfectly cooked, nice and hot.
She did not ask if it would be OK to change my order, she just went ahead and did it. Who was I to disagree? This woman knew what she was doing and what I wanted.
At IHOP, a selection of four syrup flavors is normally in a small rack on each table. My table did not have one. As she started to leave, I asked for hot syrup. She started to get a rack from another table and then stopped when the word "hot" registered.
Without missing a beat, she put the rack back on the other table and headed for the kitchen. A moment later, having already figured out that maple was my flavor of choice, she returned with heated syrup in a coffee cup. I was a happy man.
About half way through my meal, I picked up the cup to pour more syrup on the remaining food. But I picked up my coffee cup by mistake, and, sure enough, poured coffee onto my precious pigs in a blanket.
I chuckled to myself. A moment before, I sat content with the perfect breakfast; one that was prepared with extra effort and care. Then I screwed it up by pouring coffee onto my food.
I suppose I could have asked for a new plate but did not. The mess was no one's fault but my own and my server was too good to trouble. Deciding that I would have drunk the coffee and eaten the food anyway, I added syrup from the correct cup and continued eating.
At IHOP, you pay for your food at the counter. This time I gave my customary tip; 15% or $3.00, whichever is greater. In this case, it was $3.00 as the bill was nine dollars and change.
On the way out, I peeked at my server's name tag. Her name is Terry. I will remember her every time we go into or drive by an IHOP. Terry is more than a server. She is Mom, and she took good care of me this day.