I want a grumpy waitress who is a little overweight with a bad dye job. She calls strangers "Hon" or "Sweetpea" when they sit down to order breakfast. She probably needs, and richly deserves, a foot rub when she gets home. I'm a little tired of trim men in dress shirts hovering around like you might not know how to eat by yourself and pretty young girls clearly just going through the motions hoping to be 'discovered' and start their real life.
I want to look at a menu and see things that a working man would eat for breakfast. Sausage and gravy instead of cream brie or 'market berries.' A menu designed for fuel where the average job involves burning calories instead of the menu for a place where the average job is looking as young and thin as possible.
Young women have been checking me out. It made no sense. I'm dressed a little different than the average, but between the tourists, the different classes and the different ideas of style there really isn't a standard here. You can't (correction, I can't in only two days) reliably pick out the locals by dress. So why the checkout? I'm not pretty. Not distinctive. And the attention is coming from a very definite demographic. (If everyone was checking me out, I'd take a hard look at my dress and mannerisms and local standards and adjust.)
Then it hit me. Age, demeanor, gender... I'm edging into the 'potential sugar-daddy demographic.' The other, other, other career path for a young lady down here.
Everyplace is different, and this place is beautiful. The ocean is warm enough to swim in, by Oregon standards. A little rain, a lot of sun. One spectacular sunset. And the people I've met have been wonderful. Even the traffic (granted I'm here on a weekend and in a nice area) looks smooth, uncluttered and even polite.
But I think I'm missing the Pacific NorthWest just a little bit.And I hope all the grumpy waitresses of the world have someone at home to give them a foot massage.