PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

I can recall this one place off of Dixie near Scott Lake. It was a little grocer/resturant run by Mexicans and only people of Mexican descent would frequent this little place. How long could I say this buisness was here? I couldn't guess. But I do know my parents every Sunday after church would get this sweet suger bread from that little buisness. So I know it was there since I was at least five, I'm eighteen now. I digress though. The last time I came to this little buisness was to get some tortas (Basically Mexican sanwiches), of course the "greeter" a women no older than twenty-five did not have my order ready, nor spoke English very well. So I had to wait.  

While I waited and fumbled uncomfrotably with my hands as other "pure-bread" Mexicans clamored around their food and spoke in many dialects of Spanish, I took the time to appreciate the atmoshphere. As a employee of a Wendy's resturant I can tell you how much love and care go into the heart stoping crap they call food - none, but because this small buisness' survival was and still is dependant on customer loyalty, I first took note of the two cooks. I saw the rush in their faces as one cook threw a doughy mess of whatever onto a grill and the other flipped what I saw as hand made tortillas. I saw how fast each other would swing around the industrial kitchen never to help one another but still working in perfect harmony. Both cooks end results were products of love and affection carefully hand crafted with tradition and accuracy. Of course some will argue food made so quickly must have its flaws, perhaps the food may have too many flaws. But the reality is that this peice of Mexico is its own club, out siders like Amercians wouldn't know the process or flow of authentic Mexican food. Even I couldn't fully understand or even apreciate the passion, but I still admired its vigor. Their vigor. The big plasma screen T.V. in the corner blared with a low budget infomercial about god knows what, it broke my concentration from the cooks. 

I watched the television for a moment somewhat trying to distract my self from the other patriotic patrons, even going so far as to remove my self from the counter I was impatiantly waiting at. A rugged male voice creeps from behind me as he talks to the waitress in Spanish. He takes a seat and grabs a low quality menu from the counter, he reads the list of food choices but I can see in his eyes he'll be getting his usual. I look back to the menu and notice how cheaply made it was, just paper with low resolutions photographs taken by an amature photagrapher, most likely the waitress. I look around some more towards the walls and the windows both covered in poorly cut drywall although the windows are only half covered. The menu and walls reflect the rest of the resturant and grocery sections, but this doesn't phase me at all, in fact I'm inspired by it. To see how much work and dedication was put into making this small buisness funtion and realise this may be more than a means to make money, I feel the stores discreet virtue. It takes a second for all of it to steep into my head, but once it does I guess I saw the small beauty of a small buisness run by a minority. Even better though is the loyalty of several customers. 

Now as I mentioned before, my parents have been going to this place for several years, the traditon passed down to my older brother as he sometimes flirts with the cashier. Now I'm not going to pretend like I know the people who run their buisness or even try to imply I have a deep connection with the culture. But from listening to conversations from other customers to employes, and vice versa, I know there is a community developed around this home away from home. It's obviouse even to an "outsider" that to have real respect here, aside from the usual customer-employee interaction, you must have a relationship with some one there to have a memorable time. I took hold of this thought as the waitress packaged my order and immediatly jumped to the man who had just took his place by the counter next to me, she smiled as she called out his name and friendly banter was passed back and forth. She turned back to me her smile faded but somwhat still there as she told me the price of my order. I felt outcast but still had the warm feeling of being in a home well sutied for outcast from American soceity. She gave me my order neatly placed in a plastic grocery bag and handed me my change, I left quickly still  uncomfortable as this was still foreign to me. 

I walked outside to my dad's car got in and we drove away to our house, we spoke but my mind was still very focused on the smaller side of business. It never occured to me how important independant buisness play a small part in community and quality. But still make a huge impact on those who frequent these places. Corporations like Wendy's or McDonalds will have loyal customers, but who really notices them? Sure if you work in this enviroment you'll notice them, but from my expirence at Wendy's, most or all frequent customers are all treated with the same level of customer-employee interaction. A ten percent disount will be thrown into the mix of their order, but the food is still crap and no one really cares about their personal life, and most employees will quit before making a lasting relationship with another customer. The most one can hope for at a corporate run resturant is a manager that feels almost pity for the poor fool who eats there. It's dissapointing knowing that.