Non-traditonal Love Story

It is a typical Saturday. I arrive, as I do most Saturdays, at 6:58 am (as I am instructed to- although my tired-faced boss does not arrive to let me in until approximately 7:07 am), leaving me outside of Costa’s Candies and Restaurant to chat with the one of the occasional creepy guys that live above the shops next door. After being let in, I clock in, and begin to do my regular tasks in my usual sleepy stupor. I bring out trays of travel-sized jams and jellies to each booth, and fill the dishwasher which is older than any of my grandparents. Working as a waitress at the oldest restaurant in town has its perks. However, one of them isn’t being sprayed by the scalding water in the dishwasher when the door isn’t shut just right, which occurs often. Yay for using equipment invented before safety regulations.

Working at Costa’s is entirely different from working at any other boring restaurant, even the customers are different. They arrive, one by one, as if on a schedule. I can name the times they will arrive and in which booths they will sit. “The Regulars” as I call them, are their own breed of people, coming in as often as twice a day (in the case of Gene and Greg, St. Clair’s for men workers).  And then there’s the Wisdom Council.

The Wisdom Council (a name they actually gave themselves) is a group of three old men- gossips that show up routinely every Saturday at 7:45 on the dot. Except for Gene, who is always late, and arrives around 8 o’clock. They are each other’s company and sole news-source. They don’t see each other outside of their weekly Costa’s visits, and as they always sit in the same spot, nine times out of ten I am their waitress. Thanks to the Wisdom Council, I have not had the need to look at a newspaper since starting my job- as they inform anyone willing to listen, on the controversial issues of Steele County, such as what they will all do when Ebola inevitably strikes in the area. As I bring them their usual french toast and eggs, they peruse the menu that they have had memorized for years, but read anyways.

Costa’s has a friendly atmosphere unlike any other eating establishment. All of the Regulars know each other. There is a gentleman named Jerry that I have to practically follow around the restaurant waiting to set his coffee down because he sits and talks to every person in the restaurant (whether they are acquainted or not) prior to taking his seat. There are two men who have been coming to Costa’s for years and every time they eat they make a tally at the front counter of which of them bought lunch that day so they don’t fight over the check. (Apparently that used to be an issue for them). Their tally has been kept under our cash register for years and it makes me smile every time I see it. Lifelong friendships have been formed at Costa’s. I don’t think you can say the same about a Starbucks.

I have a certain level of respect for anyone willing to sit at the communal bar. It sits at  the front of Costa’s and has 10 seats- quite rarely the seats are filled with people that know each other. Even if the occasional party of four sits down at the bar to eat- the regulars who sit there have no reservations about plopping down right next to them and joining their conversations. I find it hilarious when this happens. The poor confused family who just got their conversation interrupted by a strange older gentleman, look to me with faces that say, “Does this happen often?” I have met some interesting people while sitting there wrapping silverware. That is often where the people with the most interesting stories sit, the “just passing through” kind of people, who just want someone to listen to them. Just last week I sat and talked with an old Irish man who just moved to the area and informed me that napkins were, in fact, what separate humans from cats and dogs.

Costa’s itself is filled with memories. Glancing at the peeling wallpaper you can see frame after frame of Owatonna’s past serving as little time capsules to a simpler place. The Regulars need it. The whole business is a blast to the past with the menu that hasn’t changed in fifty years (with the exception of taking anchovies off the Greek salad which some customers still can’t handle). Add to that the fact that the owners just hired a boy to wait tables for the first time in the history of Costa’s and the Regulars are still dealing with the huge crossing of that gender barrier.

It is nice to be able to work in a place that the Baby Boomers frequent to reminisce. I’ve heard so many stories from sweet old ladies visiting from out of town who tell me about growing up here and coming every week with their dad to get a Costa’s strawberry malt after school. They are always delighted we are still open because “Nobody makes ‘em the same!” Stories like those are why I love to work at Costa’s, and make me think about whether my generation will have anything like that in the future. In 50 years, will old ladies wearing Uggs and yoga-pants tell the barista at a throwback Starbucks about how they used to come and get Pumpkin Spice Lattes every Monday? I don’t think so- because that was a much simpler time, when things were really appreciated.

Working at Costa’s cannot be compared to working at some run-of-the-mill fast food job. This job has given me so much more.  A lot of people say that everyone should have the experience of waiting tables once in their life. I take it a step farther and wish that everyone could have the experience of waiting tables at Costa’s one time in their lives.  As a Costa’s waitress I wear many hats- candy girl, tour guide, Owatonna expert, therapist, and elderly care provider. I don’t think the average McDonald’s employee could add those to their resumes.

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Where is your home away from home? Did you enjoy your first job? Do you also have an nontraditional love story?