Floyd.

I love going to lunch with my Mom.

In days past, when we were quite a bit less fortunate, we had a tradition of going out to a cherished but inexpensive dinner on her payday. It was our reward for making it through the month one more time and also fuel for our souls for the upcoming month, whatever it held. Usually, we ended up at The Galaxy, a Chinese restaurant with two enourmous lions, spray-painted gold standing guard outside. Everything inside was a deep red: the carpet, the walls even the tassels on the menus. All you usually needed to eat there was a twenty dollar bill but only on payday could my Mom spare that for my plate of Sesame Chicken and her plate of some sort of vegetables and chicken with a heavy dose of hot mustard. For one shining hour, we lived like the people who could go eat whever they choosed and with my fingers greasy on an egg roll, I was happy because neither of us had to worry about anything for that one hour in that red kingdom of solace from reality.

Things have gotten significantly better for us financially but we've still seen our share of hard times in other ways. Those days of dinners in the Galaxy seem like a lifetime ago and yet at the same time they are like yesterday. I know my Mom still feels them breathing down our necks as I do, even as I, at lunch today, simply asked the waiter for the dessert menu because I wanted some chocolate cake. I knew it would be okay. No questions asked. It's just chocolate cake. Lunch with Mom has become something of a routine and not just once a month. We have our favorite places and we go there whever we want.

Today, Floyd waited on us.

He was pretty much the best waiter ever. As we were enjoying our chocolate cake, which he served to us with a manical laugh and the glass of milk with ice I requested (it is the only way to enjoy chocolate cake in my opinion,) he happened to be straightening the table next to us and asked how it was. Like little children with mouths full of sweetness, we nodded our heads and gave him a thumbs up as he laughed again. He said, "You guys are great! Which means I'm great! And what matters is what I think, so that means you guys are doing your job!" We laughed at this strangely logical statement and admitted our defeat at the hand of the cake. Floyd offered to box it up for us and we let him, having been beaten up by a chocolate concoction. We didn't feel bad. We knew what we were getting into.

As my Mom signed the credit card receipt, she made sure to tip Floyd generously as he was truly nice to us and genuninely cared about our experience. Plus, he was an all around nice guy and not a waiter autobot.

Floyd made the lunch that we didn't have to scrape for or save for or wait a whole month for that much more enjoyable. Floyd is a part of the joy of our favorite restaurant and is one of the many reasons why we drive twenty mintes to get a meal instead of settling for craptastic food on our side of town or a cheese sandwich we could have easily made ourselves.

This is for all of the Floyds of the world, making special lunches that much more special. Thanks.