Our local Thai restaurant is traditionally decorated. It has portraits of the Kings of Siam adorning the walls and golden Thai god statues at the front door. It was there that we first saw her—the traditionally dressed, petite, ageless and physically-childlike Thai waitress. She was waiting unobtrusively in the background for our order. Slowly, she approached our table with her charming smile. She bowed to us, humbly. On raising her head, in heavily broken English, she spoke to my husband.
“Why are you wearing purple reading glasses? she asked. He response was comical and she laughed. Then suddenly out of the blue she made her own joke and from that moment on, whenever she sees me, (not my husband), she smiles broadly, nods and rushes towards me, like a long lost friend.
Several months later, despite the growing connection, names have never been exchanged. They seem irrelevant. We have become superficial friends and she regularly asks me, “how are you and when are you coming to the restaurant again?” Always informing m to come on a Monday evening as it is the only time she works these days. Last time we were at the restaurant she was excitedly telling me that she is also doing food demonstrations. Then one Saturday morning,out of the corner of my eye, I saw her demonstrating at Costco. I wondered if she would recognise me among the crowd. She certainly did.
While busily preparing her demonstration for me, she again asked about when we were last at the restaurant remembering that we had told her that we lived in the area. Her cheerful attitude brightened up my morning and reminded me of the value of the simple things in life.
On our last visit to the restaurant, she was waiting to pick someone up, when she saw us. Despite the fact that she wasn’t working she hurried over, thanked us for coming and took our order. To her we are friends and she loves to serve us.
