Table for One

The scenario is such- an aging, graying male (possibly late fifties?) appears in the doorway of my "day job" location. A fairly typical burger joint, it is not necessarily an establishment that begs repeat visits, unless one is a fan of over-priced meat patties and the potent odor of gruyere cheese. Yet here he arrives, sometimes both lunch and dinner, daily, without fail, only one request from his lips.

"Table for one".

Now, this frequent customer is clearly struggling from some ailment, though what exactly, one can't be sure. His gait carries a bit of a limp, and all movements take a lengthy, seemingly painful amount of effort. Sometimes, in my moments of lingering soft-heartedness (for there doesn't seem to be much left in this New York transplant) I have to fight back the tears welling up. It just seems so cruel to me, a life of endless meals on a loop, the scenery barely changing day in and day out. I even find myself wondering if he orders the same meal at every sitting. WIth not even a book as his companion, this man appears truly alone.
I long to know his story. Was there ever a "someone" else to share with him giant burgers and a sm'ores shake? Has he always possessed this staggering stance and ackward movement? In my hyperactive mind, I concoct fables of great loves lost, hopeless romantic Manhattan fairy tales where a once amourous duo had the world on a string and a future full of fantasy. Yet their great affair ended tragically, with this poor man alone, living in a perpetual groundhog's day, and apparently in need of daily doses of greasy gastronomy.

What frightens me the most is truly a selfish notion: I don't want that to be me. As much as I claim to be single, independent, and strong, the thought of living this life alone petrifies me. Yet already, I see similar cyclical patterns in my behavior that alarm. Even now, as I type this tale, I am eating my afternoon cup of Tasti D Lite frozen yogurt... as I did yesterday... and the day before... and the day, well you get the picture. A woman caught in a rut, continually whiling away the days with an almost obsessive need for routine, for SAMENESS. I convince myself it is all in the name of comfort and organization, a well-oiled machine with no fear of dysfunction. In reality, it is merely an excuse to coast by daily with a buffer of safety and security. I believe that it may be time to take a leap and make real the hopeless romantic fantasies I envision. Stop daydreaming and start day-living. My fascinating, burger loving
VIP may keep his "Table for one".

For me, one is simply not enough.