June 2002
The
Night Beat: Pat's
Diner-Trenton after hours
By
Shamus Burke
When
last call is made, the ugly-lights are turned up, all accounts
are settled and the bartender is compensated for being a friendly
host, the night is not yet over for many patrons. Pat's 24-hour
diner, on South Broad Street, is a haven for these tireless night
people looking to slow down after a fast night and grease always
seems to be high on the list of cravings when inhibitions are
low.
You
never know what's going to be cooking at Pat's come three o'clock
in the morning after a Friday happy-hour becomes happy-hours.
My lady-friend and I close River City with an after-hours drink
with our two favorite bartenders and then catch a cab to Pat's.
Drinking and driving is bad for your health.
At
the door we are greeted and seated by the night security guard.
We slide into the booth and pick up our menus to keep our hands
occupied. We both already know what we're going to order, but
we search each plastic-covered page like it's an urban ritual:
nothing has changed. Although we haven't ordered, the waitress
brings two waters, two coffees and cream: it's exactly what we
would have ordered, so we accept it graciously.
A
little distracted, she mumbles, "What can I getcha?"
I get a western omelet, home fries (deep-fried) and rye toast.
The late-night lady gets two scrambled eggs and a side of pork
roll. When you're eating at Pat's after a long night of drinking,
your arteries are hungry.
The
waitress floats back to the kitchen like she's walking on the
moon, but I guess at three a.m. we're all walking in space. The
lady asks, "How did she know we wanted coffee and water?"
I
quip, " Maybe that's what everybody gets when they stumble
in at three. Or maybe we didn't have a choice."
We
both smirk a breathy chuckle and reach for the coffee. She pours
sugar like she's trying to lose a tooth. I dump a half 'n' half
in the still coffee. It moves like heavy smoke.
Our
waitress comes out of the kitchen and tends to the yuppie booth
at my back. I don't hear the whole order, but I hear his order
end with the uppity complaint, "and we had ordered two waters
and two coffees when you seated us." Before the waitress
goes for their drinks he interrupts, "and don't forget the
cream." Our mystery was solved, but I still didn't like his
attitude.
Post-midnight
and moonshine bring out he mischief in me: I can't help but wink
at the lady and exclaim, "This is great coffee!" Sitting
on the other side of the bench I can feel the yuppie shift from
one impatient cheek to the other.
The
waitress returns with our food. I ask for the Tabasco. With a
quick grin the waitress remarks, "So, you like it hot."
I wink, "I'm not afraid of the heat." As always, Pat's
serves up the best eggs this side of midnight. I finish what eggs
and pork roll the modest lady doesn't, pay the tab and compensate
the waitress for what the yuppie was too drunk and cheap to tip.
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