Waitresses are the most important people in the world.

Last night I found the Hutchinson equivalent to Mankato's Wagon Wheel Cafe. Not exactly the same, as the Wagon Wheel allowed smoking, closed at 4:00, had wall jukeboxes at every table, and charged a buck fifty for a fucking hamburger, but sort of close.

I mean, it was filled with old people. And by filled, I mean, there was me, and then there were four other people and those four other people were as old as oil.

And the waitress, the fantastic waitress, who smelled of perfume or hair spray that came from an 80s aeresol can, well she was fantastic. I was grading papers, and she kept saying hey, how's your studying going? And then when she forgot that the old people who'd just come in ordered cheeseburgers with fried onions--just like always--she said, Oh, I'm just so out of it, so dumb. Not like this one studying over here! And then she came up to me in the booth and put her arm around me and her stiff hair in my face. I loved her. I loved her and her old, white sweater with embroidered flowers. It was the sort of sad night to just love a waitress. She brought me hot fries. When she brought the au jus for my french dip, she didn't know what it was called, so called it dipping stuff. She refilled my diet three times. Went on and on and on about the types of pies they had when I inquired, and then about the cakes.

I graded 8 essays. While doing so, her parents came in. They discussed a phone call her daughter had gotten from a teacher at school. She'd said at one point, dad, remember how you said you'd give me that money if I just left him? She'd said at one point, I know I was supposed to do that, but I just--it's just that it's hard battling real depression.

They were closing soon.

She rang me up. She sighed. She said, Ugh, it's just been one of those damn days.

And I said, you bet.

Then the depressed waitress forgot to put the pie on my bill. Said, oh, it's just my fault and winked.