The People of the Night — One Angry Waitress

There is something oddly taboo about being awake at three or four in the morning, and perhaps even more so about working at that time. I’m sure that part of this is because I’m a woman, and at some time I know I’ll have to walk to my car alone, keys stuffed between my fingers. But there is also a sort of joy in the weirdness of the people that are out at that hour.

The bar where I work has a lot of windows. It’s like a fishbowl. Sometimes when it’s quiet I pour myself a coffee and watch the people that walk by. We have an alley along the one side too, and for some reason most people run down it, as if it’s some sort of timed winter event. This is deadly given that underneath the snow and ice it’s all painted concrete.

One man walks past doing what looks to be his version of the moonwalk. Another seems to be having a very intense conversation with himself. Finally, there is very young woman in only a minidress and peep-toe high heels. She is sprinting, no doubt because she is cold, and when she falls, her hands wind-milling through the air and snow flying everywhere, I can’t help but feel like she has done so for my benefit. I watch her for a minute more to make sure she’s alright, and she totters off, a bit dazed, shaking snow from her shoes as she goes.

I finish up early, it’s just after one when the manager tells me I can be done for the night. On my drive home there is a man pressed up to the passenger’s side window to blow me kisses and wave exuberantly. I had been singing in my car because I, like Chuck Klosterman, think that a sort invisibility settles over a person while they’re in their car, and I guess it drew a crowd of the only other car at the stoplight. I give the man a little seated bow and the light turns green.

At the liquor store where I stop because I’ve decided I’d like to have a drink as much as anyone I’ve served tonight, there is a man who nearly cries when I open the door for him. “You’re so sweet,” he tells me, and all I can think is, it’s minus 27 out here, sweet nothing, get out of my way man. But I smile at him anyway.

The clerk tells me that this dude was covered in snow when he came in, and that he was so drunk he stood between the aisles peering down them. “I said, ‘what do you want man, just tell me and I’ll get it for you.’” We have a good laugh about this and I assure him that yes, one bottle of wine is really more than enough.

At home, I put on my pajamas and settle in on the couch with a glass of wine. It’ll be three soon but I’m still too wound up to go to sleep. Outside the windows of the house there is no one walking. I sip and watch until finally a lone car passes, and I have to wonder what the driver is doing awake at this hour.