Cheeseburger and Mary

While working at An Open Book, it was easy to fall into the neighborhood's lunch choices, especially as the neighborhood started to get lots of new shops and restaurants. I wanted to try the new places and wanted to get the daily specials, so I could have something new. I never brought my lunch, which would have been wise, considering the urgency of my continued financial situation.

There was a period of about a year where I was addicted to one, specific lunch that for some reason I was not embarrassed to order on a daily basis. This is Philip's Coney Island which was only a couple of doors down from the store. Philip's was very simple- the walls were white, the furniture was white and there was very little decoration. Their daily specials would be written on a wipe-off board, usually with several misspellings and awful handwriting that you could hardly read.

Mary worked there. She was a sweet lady who didn't speak much. She always looked sad to me, like there was something bad going on in her life. Just didn't look very happy. However, you could tell that work was her escape and she would light up when I walked into the restaurant. She would say, "Hi Honnnney!" I would say hello and she would recite my order to me, so used to me ordering the same thing. "Cheeseburger, honnney? Fries? Root Beer?" Yes. That was my order everyday. I didn't want any other cheeseburger but this one- there was something about their grill that made it taste so delicious. The fries, Mary made herself, but they didn't have a fry bin, so she had to make them to order. She would put them in a stainless steel bowl right out of the fryer and shake them around with some salt. If I worked there, I would always say that we were out of fries, since I wouldn't want to do each order separately the way she had to. Often, she was the only one there and she would make my burger too. It was like a burger your mom would make and it was very comforting to me.

On a side note, I also don't really drink root beer. I always order a water, an iced tea or Diet Coke. This was the only occasion in my entire life where I think I ordered a root beer. There was something about the combo, about where I was (physically and emotionally) where root beer made sense. It was delicious and comforting.

When I took my lunch back to the store office, Michael would tell me, "You have to stop eating like that, you're going to get fatter." This was a clue to me that he used the word "fatter" meaning I was already packing on the pounds. He was right. I did get fatter, but there was something that made me go back for more everyday. Michael went through phases with me on occasion. It was a depression that would bring us into eating this kind of food and we would slip in and out of it. Michael would begin exercising and so I would try too. At one point, I joined the gym and went almost everyday. Thank goodness for Michael, he would save me from hitting the 200 lb threshold and remind me of that when I couldn't see it for myself.

I would still eat the cheeseburger if Mary was still there. I bet she is, she has worked there forever. I think I wouldn't be as interested in going there if she wasn't there. I hope she is doing well with whatever was holding her back, in which case, this would make sense if she wasn't there at all anymore. She might have a new life, a new job and a new attitude. She may not be serving the local riff-raff. I think of her, usually when I'm eating a cheeseburger.