Feb 7, 2022 3 min read

A few years ago, I went into a restaurant with a friend. It was crowded (clearly, this is a pre-COVID story). The staff would walk by, ignoring us as we stood by the sign that read, “Please Wait To Be Seated.”

As we waited, the first verse of the Clash song rumbled through my head; I had the “Should I Stay, or Should I Go?” debate (if you know it, you’re singing it). After a few long moments of tapping my toe, folding my arms and looking disgruntled (like Sonic the Hedgehog when he’s left unattended), I turned to my friend and said, “I just want them to give me the finger.”

She laughed and said, “Wait. You want them to give you the finger?”

“Not that finger,” I replied. “What I mean is … I don’t need a whole, ‘We’ll be with you in a moment,’ or anything. I just want one of them to hold up an index finger as they went by. I want someone to acknowledge that we are standing here.”

“Oh,” she added, “The gesture that says, ‘We’ll be with you in a minute,’ without actually saying, ‘We’ll be with you in a minute.'”

“Yes. The good finger.”

Looking back, “The Good Finger” sounds like a show on Paramount Plus. You’ve got “The Good Wife,” “The Good Fight,” “The Good Doctor,” and for some unknown reason, “The Good Sam.” Apparently, TV writers like to slam “Good” in front of everything. In retrospect, there is also a show called, “Evil.” When you’re good you’re good, but when you’re bad, you’re so, so bad (I got the lyrics today).

But I digress, like I do. Finding a waiter is even harder now that it was three years ago. The other day, I realized, that people are still serving food. They are just doing it from afar. They went from delivering food to your table to delivering the food right to your door. Uber Eats, Door Dash and company have made delivering dinner a contactless sport.

Recently, I was at Iron Born Pizza in Millvale, the woman at the counter called out, “Heidi,” and a big, bearded fella answered. Since he looked more like a gorilla in a wool fleece than a Swiss Miss, I realized that I was the only one in the entire joint picking up my own pie. That’s where all the waiters have gone. They’re picking up artisanal pizzas, ramen and curry for their fellow Millennials, while the Boomers are walking into empty restaurants and yelling, “I want a steak. Where are all the waiters?”

I don’t need a big to-do when I walk into a restaurant, bar or coffee shop. I am not Dolly Levi descending the staircase at the Harmonia Gardens (three musical theater geeks laughed, but it was worth it).

I just want someone to nod their head in my general direction, hold up an index finger and keep moving. An “I see you there” goes a long way. I promise to smile back.