The tables are dirty.  What is she thinking, wiping them?  She is young, tall, every morning this week, here, so not a student…It’s summer, though.  She might still be a student.

 

We are all older here, all white.  They are all young, darker skinned giving the impression that they have heritage south of this country.  They are always smiling whereas the customers are usually strung out, frantic, sometimes kids running and parents yelling…tidal waves of energy.

 

Why do we punish our kids with nominal work that exists to cater to us who are not working?  Their weekends, their holidays are all here, in these coffee shops, everywhere, making sure our weekends and our holidays are enjoyable.

She is going from table to table, wiping the tops clean, reorganizing the chairs, wiping them if necessary, smiling, music playing, sweeping the floor and in a few minutes, this café looks again like it did when it opened hours ago.  She is smiling, which must mean that she accepts that she is here, working, and making the best of it this Sunday morning of a long, holiday weekend.

 

I am thinking, watching her, that we force the youth to miss their youth, to use their youth incorrectly, and guilt them into still making the best of these best years of their lives.  But, what is she thinking?

 

 

 

 

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(written with pen on paper)