Breakfast Meeting

It was snowing as I stood outside the restaurant, light flakes landing on my jacket and hair, melting instantly into the fabric, my hair, down into my scalp. It was 10 am on a Sunday and I was already at work. A mandatory meeting had been called.

I didn't know the agenda, but I figured it was going to be about plummeting sales, cut back hours, new promotions, or something along those lines. I was smoking the first cigarette of the day, my breath frosting the air, or was it the smoke, I couldn't tell. My hands were pinking in the cold, the tips beginning to get that burn that comes from being in the weather too long. I knocked the cherry off the smoke by pinching the cigarette between my two fingers and the burning ember hit the pavement with a hiss.

In I went. The restaurant was empty of customers and so I gave a loose "hello" to Aurelio, Arnie, Luis, CT, and Leah. As I reached for the coffee pot, it hit me, the buzz from the first smoke of the day. It was a strong one, my head swam and little electric impulses shivered down to my fingers. My hand shook a little as I poured myself a cup of coffee.

The restaurant smelled like bacon, not unusual for the opening shift as they pre-cook the bacon for the day's lunch crowd. In addition, there were eggs spattering on the plancha, O'Brien potatoes frying next to them with a mix of peppers and onions, hash browns browning. We don't serve breakfast at the restaurant, or at least we DIDN'T.

Turns out the meeting was for the sole purpose of testing out the new breakfast menu. Erica, Joan, Leah, and all the rest sat around sampling omelets, potatoes, breakfast burritos, and a breakfast sandwich on sourdough bread. I sit on my couch now, having to return in less than four hours to work my night shift, but my belly is full and my heart is content. My daughter is screaming herself to sleep, a sound I've become adjusted to, and Tracy is nibbling a little something to tide her over. We plan on having our lazy afternoon today, a day where nothing much is accomplished except the tender touch of a hand on a cheek, or my fingers running through her hair.