Classic Coffee, Classic Anxiety

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The clinks of silverware on plates. The sizzle of eggs frying in hot oil. The smiles of my waitresses, their soothing voices. It was almost too much in Houston's Avalon Diner. Not objectively too much. Just too much for me. You see, for me to not have anxiety, I need to be curled up with my dog watching TV and partially dissociating in a comfy bed. And outside of that experience, fear accompanies me in some small way. 

"I'll umm, yeah umm. I'll umm have the, uhh, water and a coffee please."

"Would you like to order food too?" (I think she said that, couldn't quite hear her so I assumed that's what she said). 

"Oh, yes, umm, I'll also have the uhh, turkey, cheese—swiss cheese—and avocado omelet."

"Yes sir," and she said it with an affectionate smile I didn't feel I deserved. 

Jesus, dude, how many times you gonna say umm and uhh??

The wait for each item was perfect. I was able to finish a chapter of my book between each item, and that felt appropriately timed. I wondered if the waitress was peeking over my shoulder to judge her timeliness based on that lol. 

I slowly ate my omelet. It needed hot sauce, so I sniffed my hot sauce. Had a nice peppery tang (I knew it would but found some comfort in verifying this information), and I poured. Too much at the end but it couldn't be helped, and I spread that last part as far as I could, scraping off the excess. 

I pretended I wasn't studying the waitresses as best I could. Our eyes would still meet very briefly before I could look away sometimes, but I never sensed discomfort. It's like they were used to the objects of people watching. 

The omelet was nice. Not too fancy. Puffy, cheesy, and... just classic style. It was all I needed. A sign read "best coffee in town", and idk about all that. It was coffee. You don't need to oversell me on classic, black coffee. Just pour me up, zaddy. 

Anyway, I'd give it a 7/10. Food was 6/10, but I was there to read my book, and they let me read in peace without trying to kick me out too fast after I'd finished my meal. The booth I sat in was also cozy, so they scored an extra half point for that too. 

I wish I was a guy who could make small talk with waitresses easily. It always feels painful and forced, and I always feel jealous. Like the other day at El Tiempo this guy just started chatting with the bartender so casually, while I smiled awkwardly. Trying to look engaged to see if they'd include me in the convo. They never did. But they didn't make me feel weird either. A nice neutral ground, I guess. 

Anyway. Check out Avalon Diner sometime when you need to read a good book and do some people watching. Or don't. It doesn't matter to me either way. 

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