Friday October 13, 2006

The spice-soaked air at the Phoenix Grill swirled about from the ceiling fans lazily swaying back and forth. The owner once bragged that he had matched the color scheme of the original Phoenix Theater from when it had first opened. It was a challenge to re-create the sumptuous ambience of the former small movie palace, but the owner thought that the fact that nobody believed he could do it was just a bonus impetus for him to do it. Of course, these were all just things that Aram told Cindy, nothing she ever heard first hand. Still, she couldn't help but admire the lavish crimsons and golds of the ceiling panels, or the exotic touch of the large swaying fans as opposed to the usual "modern" rotating fans. And although she was unable to identify any particular herb or spice in the air, she could still appreciate how much work was put into the food. After all, she was a waitress and knew the full wrath of any cook once he or she had found out that Cindy had accidentally spilled another order. She always made sure to tip well in case it would come back to her.

In fact, she hoped that that was what had led her to Aram and the date she was on tonight. When she had asked him why he had given her such a large tip for a simple cup of coffee, he confessed that he found her attractive. The other waitresses at Mel's Diner thought Aram was creepy for hitting on one of their own, but Cindy found it chivalrous, like in one of the romantic novels she had read. Besides, she thought he was handsome, with his thick dark hair, high cheekbones, and neatly trimmed beard. Usually, she found facial hair to be unattractive and unsanitary, most likely because of the crude truckers who came in with their "mountain men"-like beards who dribbled soup and made lewd suggestions to the waitresses.

But Aram was different. He politely asked her where she would like to go should she wish to have a dinner date with him. Cindy suggested the Indian restaurant, as she had never been there before. For a moment, a look had crossed his face which made her fear that she had offended him, but he calmly explained that he was not Indian, but Persian. Cindy had nearly dropped the carafe of coffee out of embarrassment, but she did her best to explain that she was just curious about the restaurant since she had not been there before, not so much to appeal to his ethnicity or his perceived ethnicity.

Cindy sat alone at the table in the middle of the restaurant. She usually preferred a secluded booth in the back by the kitchen, but being in the middle of the spectacle of food service made her feel judged. She had never caught anyone looking at her, but she felt so exposed. The waitresses at Mel's usually watched the customers eating and passed judgments on them, fully believing they were right. Al, who usually ordered two double cheeseburgers and a double order of fries for lunch, was commonly predicted to have a heart attack within the next year, most likely in the diner since that was the only place he ate. For breakfast, he would have scrambled eggs, hashbrowns, three strips of bacon, and four pieces of sausage. Cindy didn't know what he ate for dinner since she usually left before he came in for dinner. He wouldn't go someplace like the Phoenix Grill, which had mostly vegetarian fare, which was the reason why Aram often went there. Cindy wondered if he was a vegetarian for religious reasons, but figured there would be time later to ask.

There were a few people in the restaurant, which was probably since it was early in the evening for the dinner crowd. Aram had offered to pick Cindy up from work, but she figured it would be best if they just met at the Phoenix Grill. Still, she felt a bit silly sitting at a table for two by her self. She idly glanced at the menu and realized she had no hope of being able to pronounce anything on the menu. Looking up, she saw one of the young waiters at the wall walking in her direction and immediately placing her hand over her glass: the international symbol for "I don't need any more water yet." He had already refilled her glass twice that night even though it was nowhere near empty. Cindy wished she knew what it would be like to have downtime and be bored waiting for more customers to come in, but there was always a good stream of people going in and out of Mel's.

After work that night she first met Aram, Cindy went online and read as much as she could about Persia, which was not Persia anymore, but Iran. In all truth, a lot of the websites were a bit dry, and she often nodded off or briefly scanned the history sections. She wondered why Aram identified himself as Persian as opposed to Iranian, but after half an hour of watching the news, she realized why. His appearance was probably what caused the other waitresses at the diner to whisper or why they pushed her to wait on their table even though it was in Linda's serving area. Cindy did not need another reason to hate her small town, with its closed-minded residents, but she realized that her town wasn't much unlike other towns. Maybe that was why she chose the newer Indian restaurant, since it was something the neighboring towns did not have. It was like an oasis in the middle of the cultural desert of her small patch of the Midwest. Even if she left here for the next town 30 minutes away, it would probably be the same. Even more disheartening was the fact that it never even occurred to her to go much further, leave the state for a larger city. Cindy had been born in the area hospital at the edge of town, went to school and nearly married her high school sweetheart until his mother told him to wait until after college. Of course, long before then, he had lost interest in her.

Well, Aram was nothing like that, and Cindy was not looking for any sort of relationship. She just figured it would be nice to go out with someone unlike the usual people she met in the diner. She had once had a casual fling with one of the dishwashers a few years ago, fooling around in the dry storage area during their breaks, but Chad was certainly no gentleman. Cindy often looked in the mirror to try to figure out why Aram had been so nice and chose her over the other younger, prettier waitresses. She had at least a decade on him. Full beard or no, he was still a young man, having just begun his residence at the local hospital. Cindy couldn't help but wonder why Aram would choose this hospital for his residency after having come from another country and going to a large university a few hours from town, but she figured she would hold off the full interrogation until the actual date.

That is, if the date would actually happen. Granted, Aram had called her again on Wednesday to confirm that they were on for that Friday night. Everyone thought she was crazy for giving him her home phone number, but she knew she would never hear the end of it if she took a phone call from him at work. Still, it seemed unlikely that anything would happen. After 36 years of living in the same small town trap, Cindy learned to keep her expectations low. Maybe he wouldn't even show up. Maybe he realized how bad of an idea it was to go out on a date with the woman who made his coffee.

The waiters and busboys waited along the wall as if ready for their cue to perform. Cindy's waiter looked at her table as if debating about attempting to refill her glass again, but stayed as soon as Cindy raised the glass to her lips. She needed to go to the bathroom and she could feel the tap of her black pumps against one of the table legs. Her legs were crossed and she worried that she may snag or run her new stockings. How long had it been? Only ten minutes. Maybe Aram was busy at the hospital. Cindy appreciated the attentiveness of the wait staff at the Phoenix Grill, but she chalked it up to mere boredom and not much else to do as opposed to actually caring about the customers.

Where was Aram? She was convinced that everyone was staring at her now. Never had she felt so out of her element. Granted, it wasn't like she was the only white person in the restaurant. Most of the people there were white and so were a couple of guys on the wait staff. Yet somehow she didn't feel like she belonged there.

She spent most of her life dreaming about the world outside of her small Midwestern town, the usual romantic fantasies of a gondola ride in Venice with some handsome Italian, kissing beneath the Eiffel Tower in Paris, lying on a sugar-sand beach watching a gorgeous blood-red sunset on some island in the South Pacific. Yet she had never even left her state, venturing only once to the campus town of her high school sweetheart. There, she had seen more people on the main quad than she had ever seen during the homecoming parade of her high school. When her town started its own branch of the state university system, more young people came in, but by then, she was already of the age of being annoyed at their presence than attempting to join them. Sometimes in the diner, drunk students would stumble in, exchanging tales of the debauchery of the previous evening or various misadventures during study abroad or spring break. Cindy knew that Aram was closer to their age than he was to hers, but he carried himself with such maturity in their first meeting that she wondered what his upbringing must have been like.

Then again, it may have all just been a front. He was still not there and it had already been fifteen minutes. Still, nobody could be that heartless as to woo someone in an awkward customer service situation only to leave them in the lurch later, right? Cindy’s eyes traveled from the maroon tablecloth and creamy paper menu to the red carpet. There was no tall, dark and handsome intern making a dramatic entrance. Instead, she could see the maitre d in what once was the ticket counter of the Phoenix Theater. He had a slight bald spot, but the rest of him stood neat and spotless in a white tuxedo shirt and black slacks. She found it amusing that the uniform for this restaurant matched that of the local multiplex, and most likely the Phoenix back when it was a movie theater. Yet she was almost certain that the teenagers who worked at the multiplex weren’t nearly as well-pressed as the wait staff here, most likely with crooked clip-on bow-ties and shirts a size too large. In comparison, everything about the Phoenix Grill seemed cinematic and spectacular. She wouldn’t have been surprised if the wait staff broke into a musical number as they brought out the entrees. That image was so amusing to her that she found herself laughing a bit too loud, a hollow laughter which rang too much of someone who wanted to find the best in a bleak situation.

Cindy noticed that her waiter hadn’t bothered to refill her glass, which was down to the ice cubes now. She usually only filled the glass a third of the way so as not to need to refill as much, but this glass was over half-filled with ice. It was probably for the best. Any more water, and she wouldn’t be able to eat anything. Not to mention, she would have to excuse herself every five minutes or so. This probably wouldn’t be a problem, considering her date had not yet bothered to show up.

Twenty minutes. At this point, Cindy felt that she had given Aram more than a fair chance. She rose to leave, slipping on her blue windbreaker, which so clumsily mismatched her black dress and pantyhose, but was the only weather-appropriate coat she owned. The waiter returned quickly with his pitcher.

“Leaving so soon? If you thought the water was good, wait until you try the food.” He smiled, gesturing for her to return to her seat.

For the first time that night, Cindy smiled with ease. “I’m afraid I must leave. I don’t think it would be fair to enjoy this place without my date, who seems to have been held up working at the hospital tonight.”

“I am very sorry, ma’am.” He said as he returned to the shadows, leaving her in solitude.

As Cindy walked to the bus stop, she wished that she had gotten the waiter’s name. She was not in the least interested in him romantically, as he was probably even younger than Aram. It was not so much that, but because he would have deserved a tip even for the simple act of getting her water and understanding when she did not want any more. Perhaps there is an odd kinship among those who work in food service.

Turning the corner, she took one last glance at the Phoenix Grill with its refurbished neon lights beckoning to anyone who would look. She wasn’t so much angry at Aram as disappointed. If she had said that aloud, she was certain that she would have sounded like her second-grade teacher Mrs. Farley when she found out that Cindy’s best friend at the time, Pam, had broken one of the porcelain ornaments on the teacher’s desk and lied about it. Mrs. Farley was a spinster.

The bus ride home was quick enough for her to make it in time for her favorite television show, so at least the night was not a total loss. As she kicked off her pumps and flopped on the couch, she looked over at the end table to see that there was a message on her machine. Being one of the few people perhaps in the world who did not own a cellular phone (even the 15-year-old busboys at Mel’s had cell phones) had many disadvantages. One of which was not being able to hear the low, soft tones of Aram’s voice, full of regret in real time, profusely apologizing for not being able to make the date. Naturally, he asked if she would like to reschedule.

Cindy lifted the cordless phone from its cradle, but returned it. The show on television was starting, not one with a wait staff musical number, but equally as fantastic and unbelievable in its notions of ideal romantic interactions between humans. Cindy was almost certain that there was still half a pint of Turtle Tracks ice cream in the freezer and figured that would suffice for dinner.