Having closed late last night I'm pretty sure I growled at Ian when he woke me up this morning. I blocked out the sound of him vacuuming, clanking dishes, packing his clothes into his duffle back until he resulted to hopping on the bed forcing me to get up.
"Ian!!"
"It's almost eleven..."
"If I had a super power, it'd be my ability to sleep for long periods at a time" continuing to cover my face with my pillow.
"Haha, yes, you've told me this before..." as he removed the pillow and blankets; one of the meanest things you can do to someone who just wants to burrow in bed all day.
I rolled out of bed, washed up and threw on whatever comfy clothes I could find and helped him load his stuff into my car. After I dropped him off at the train station, I guiltily GPSed my way over to the brunch spot one of my peers from work always talks about. It has been over a year since I first met him and I swear our first conversation was a strong handshake and something like,
"Hi, I'm Matt!! Have you eaten at the Screendoor?!?"
(Okay, maybe not that direct, haha. But he still talks about this place all the time and their frittatas.)
The line outside was tolerable and even more so knowing I was a party of one. It gave me a quick bump to cut in line on the waiting list.
If you've never gone out to eat by yourself, I strongly recommend it. Over the past several years I found myself doing this more; not because I never had anyone to accompany me or friends to call to invite but because I simply don't want to miss an opportunity to go somewhere and do something. I like to be on my own time and if people have their obligations I don't let it hold me back from experiences. I am also independent to a fault so I most times don't realize how awkward the host is asking, "Table for two?" and I correct them and say, "Nope just me!"
This summer I bought a last minute ticket for a BrewCycle bike tour by myself when my lame friends weren't answering their phones. Although it was true they had gone rafting together and lost their phones to the river, I still rub this experience in as they still haven't done the tour and want to. I guess I'm not good at waiting! And quite frankly, my schedule and Ian's only match up two days out of the month so for one, if we didn't live together I'd never see him and secondly, if I waited to do something so he could join me... I wouldn't be doing anything. Hardly at all.
The host called for Stone as they sat me at the bar. Soon after as I contemplated how productive my day would be if I had a mimosa before noon, the host also sat the stool beside me. Now I can be that wonderfully silent passenger who has the seat next to you on a crowded plane and I can also be the pleasant conversationalist on a bus to nowhere who you tell all your life stories too. It just depends. On this day in particular I brought my notebook, which I had already pulled out with a pen, and had intended on finishing my letter to my brother. I wanted a silent bar stool brunch mate.
As I resisted the temptation to text Matt and ask what he recommends (brutal since he is currently doing Whole30 and can't eat any goodness) the lady to my left asks the same question I was deliberating.
"Where do you even start with this menu?!"
She too pulled out a notebook, slightly smaller than mine, as her writing was perpendicular to what the lines on the paper indicated to write. Perhaps this is the adult version of coloring outside the line.
She was a brunette with light brown eyes, a soft tee with a knitted salmon cardigan, and a flair for word choices that made me feel like I had a small vocabulary or a redundant way of speaking. At first our conversation was light, trivial we claimed it to be later, but somewhere during our brunch we were finishing each others sentences and I found myself asking questions for my own development, my own wisdom.
As we ate and laughed about being from small towns, the south, moving to city areas and actually being a fan of the rain, we ended up literally sharing a meal as she put a part of her biscuits and gravy on a side plate pushing it in my direction claiming she could not eat it all herself. Without divulging too much of the conversation since it's more valuable to keep to myself anyway, at one point she turned to me and said, "Do you still consider Idaho home? Or moving back there?"
After I first moved out here I would joke about how I could never move back home because there's just not enough good beer to get me to stay. Within a year of leaving the Palouse, a couple breweries have sprouted up and even a Tap House that had Cyclops IPA on Nitro. She laughed at how my go-to excuse is now void and really I told her how Idaho was more of a nostalgic place for me because when I do return to visit my parents or my friends that still live there, nothing is really the same. It has all changed. And I have changed. And even if the beer continues to evolve there, me moving back home would be pretending that I could return to place in time that's in my past. I guess I didn't know that until she asked.
As I finished my banana French toast and chugged the rest of my coffee, she showed me pictures of Leo her adorable dog and we laughed as if we'd known each other for years. The waiter was probably really confused since he swore we sat down at least ten minutes apart. Maybe it's because I looked extra homelessly grungy today; no makeup, oversized flannel, workout sweats, and my Team Bride tank from this summer's wedding... but she grabbed my bill for me. She even tipped the waiter a solid $20 bucks. I got uncomfortable, people doing something nice for me that I didn't merit it or like receiving compliments, and tried to offer to pay my own. She was gracious, generous and ended our goodbye with "I hope you find your outlet for musical theater..."
If you've never eaten out alone, I strongly recommend it. You never know who you're going to meet.
Pay it forward.
