I stepped into a quaint, local breakfast establishment, not knowing what to expect. As I looked around, I couldn't help but feel that I was the only person in town who didn't know this place existed. Maybe it was just that it was small, but it seemed packed in there. I could see right into the kitchen and hear dishes clanging, along with the sounds of people talking and carrying on conversations all around me.

I got the impression that it was the sort of place where you stood in line and placed your order at the register, so I took three steps forward and to my right so I could stand at the back of the line. There were four other people ahead of me, a fact for which I was grateful so I could take a look at the menu.

The place was called Amy's Express, and apparently they specialized in biscuits. I drew this conclusion since almost everything on their menu was some variation of a biscuit, and the phrase,
'love ya like a biscuit'
was written right on their sign. They had sweet and savory options, all of which seemed tempting to me. I went with chicken fried steak biscuit because that's what the girl behind the counter recommended when I finally got up to the register and asked for her advice. She said it was one of their most popular choices, and that was good enough for me.

I sat on one of only three stools that were positioned at the bar near the register and watched as people continued to pour into and out of the small restaurant. The line was at least two people deep at all times, and the girl working greeted everyone who came in with the type of familiarity that made me think most of them were regulars.

I glanced around the small dining room. There were ten or fifteen booths and tables, and all of them were occupied. I watched as one group finished their meal and got up, and just as soon as they did, a man came out of the kitchen with a bus pan and a rag. The instant he had the table cleaned, another group sat down. I smiled, thinking these biscuits must be good.

At least half of the people who came in were picking up orders to go. I figured many of them had called ahead, because the girl working the register constantly handed out yellow plastic bags filled with to-go boxes and tied at the top. It was a non-stop, hectic atmosphere, but she smiled the whole time. As I watched, I wondered how long she'd been working there. She seemed to be about my age, and she greeted everyone as if she'd been behind that counter her whole life.

"Hello Mrs. Hunt," she said with a smile to the next lady in line.

"Hello, Annabel," the older lady said, returning her smile. She then glanced at me, and I smiled and looked away, feeling embarrassed that she'd caught me staring.

"Blueberry biscuit to go?" I heard the cashier ask even though I was no longer watching them.

"I think I'll stay here today," the lady said.

"Oh, okay," Annabel said, sounding somewhat surprised. "We'll have it out in just a minute."

They finished the transaction, and before I knew it, the lady was standing next to me. She pulled out the stool beside mine.

"Is anyone sitting here?" she asked when I made eye contact with her.

"No ma'am," I said with a smile.

"Do you mind if I join you?"

"Not at all," I scooted over just a little as she settled beside me. The line at the register had gone down to only one man, and I was staring blankly at him as he ordered. I was actually looking at his haircut. I'd just finished my business degree, but deep down in my heart, I was a hairstylist. Therefore I almost always checked out a person's hair before I even looked at their face.

"Are you all right?" the lady next to me asked as I was inspecting the gentleman's fresh fade.

I turned to face her, and was somewhat surprised to find that she was looking straight at me. "Me?" I asked.

She nodded.

"Yes ma'am," I said.

She continued looking at me, and I smiled cautiously wondering why in the world she would ask that question.

Just then, a plate of food was set in front of me, and I glanced down at it before smiling at the girl named Annabel who had put it there. "Thanks," I said.

She smiled. "Can I get you anything else?"

"No thanks. This looks great." I glanced back at the lady with a noncommittal smile as I put a paper napkin into my lap. She was still staring at me, and we locked eyes for a few seconds even though I was only planning on glancing.

"Where's your telephone, if you don't mind me asking?" she asked.

My purse was strapped over my shoulder, and I reached down to make sure it was still there. "Right here in my purse," I said. "Do you need to use it?"

She smiled and shook her head but didn't say anything.

I didn't know what to make of her questions, so I went about the business of eating my breakfast. My biscuit had been served with home-fried potatoes, and I stabbed one of them with my fork before tasting it.

"It's not very often you see someone go for more than a few seconds without staring down at their phone," she said as I chewed. Again I glanced at her, and she smiled as she continued. "I saw you when I came in. I kept glancing over here when I was waiting in line to see if you were gonna look down at your screen."

"I just didn't feel like getting it out," I said. "But you're welcome to use it if you need to."

She shook her head. "Thanks, though. I just think it's sad that people barely look at the world in front of them anymore."

I laughed as I bit into the delicious biscuit sandwich. "I'm pretty happy about looking at this sandwich," I said once I swallowed.

"Do you make a habit of leaving your phone in your purse?" she asked.

"I try to," I said. "I'm guilty of staring at it sometimes, I guess, but I think there's something to be said for locking it in your purse sometimes."

"I fear we're a dying breed," she said with a wink.

I giggled and nodded as I took another bite.

Annabel set the lady's biscuit in front of her along with a glass of milk. "Can I get you something to drink?" she asked, shifting her attention to me.

I hadn't originally ordered anything, but the biscuit was dense, and at the moment, I wished I had. I told her I'd like a glass of milk when she had the chance, and she smiled and nodded.

The line at the register had diminished for the moment, and she took off into the kitchen, presumably to get it for me.

"Are you not a coffee drinker?" the lady asked.

"Oh, I love coffee. I had a big cup right before I came here."

"I had mine before I came, too," she said between bites. "I have a cup right when I get up, which is usually six or six-thirty."

"I try my best never to get up that early," I said. "I had an eight o'clock class during my last three semesters. I didn't have to wake up till seven-fifteen, and even that was pushing it. I'm not an early morning person."

"Are you all done with school?" she asked.

"Yes ma'am. I graduated last month."

"I guess congratulations are in order."

I smiled at her. "Thank you. I'll probably feel more like I deserve it once I get a real job."

"Should I gather you have a fake job right now?" she asked.

I chuckled. "I have two jobs, actually—both of them are entirely real. I was just sort of referring to the amount of money I make at them."

She shot me a knowing smile. "I figured; I just had to tease you."

"I'm not really looking forward to the interview, if you want to know the truth." I smiled and sighed, and she glanced at me curiously like she wanted me to continue. "I went to college because my dad really wanted me to. It's a long story, but basically I did it for my dad, and now I'm on the other side of it with a degree I don't really care about." I let out a giggle, figuring I'd probably shock her with my next statement. "If it were up to me, I would have gone to hair school."

"I always wondered what it'd be like to be a beauty operator," she said, running the tips of her manicured fingernails through the hair at her temple.

"Me too," I said. "But instead, I have an interview for the finance manager position at Harris Restaurant Supply."

"The place right next door?" she asked, craning her neck to glance out the window.

"Yes ma'am. My interview's at ten. I'm headed over there when I'm done here."

"I thought you were a little overdressed for a biscuit at Amy's."

I laughed.

"I hope it goes well," she said. "…or maybe I hope it doesn't," she added with a wink.

We each took a few bites in comfortable silence before she asked, "What's your name?"

"Paige," I said. "Paige Spears."

"Like Mike Spears?" she asked. I shot her a confused look and she chuckled. "He was a politician. I guess that was before your time."

"Most people say, Britney," I said.

Now, it was her turn to shoot me a confused look.

"Britney Spears," I said. "She's a pop singer."

The lady smiled and nodded. "Oh, yes. I've heard of her." She hesitated before adding, "My name's Diane Hunt."

"I heard the girl at the resister call you Mrs. Hunt when she took your order," I said. "It's nice to officially meet you, though."

She smiled and bowed slightly as if returning the sentiment.

"Annabel's family owns this place. Her grandmother is Amy."

"I figured it was something like that," I said. "She's been doing ten things at once since I came in here, and she makes it look like she's having fun doing it."

"She's a sweetheart," Diane said. She smiled in Annabel's direction. "I come here every Friday," she added, taking a sip of milk. "I could come every day, but I have to set boundaries."

"I can see why," I said. I leaned back a little and put a hand on my stomach, which was extremely full at the moment.

I was early for my interview. I hadn't known how long it would take me to get through traffic, so I gave myself a cushion, which turned out to be a little too extensive. I glanced at the clock that was hanging on the wall and noticed that it was only 9:20 when I finished eating.

"You're not headed over there now, are you?" Diane asked, seeing me glance at the clock.

"No ma'am, I was just checking to see what time it was. I didn't mean to get here so early. I was just nervous about traffic, I guess."

"Pretty conscientious for a job you hope you don't get," she said, smiling.

I laughed. "I know, right?" I shook my head, thinking about how right she was.

"I assume the position you're applying for pays more than your other two jobs," she said.

"Oh, it does," I assured her. "More than both of them combined."

"Will you be working the same amount of hours?"

I shrugged. "About the same, just different scheduling, you know? My schedule has been all over the map because I was trying to work around school—days, nights, weekends… just whenever I could fit in a shift. This job, however, is Monday through Friday, 9 to 5."

"And you're looking forward to that?" she asked cocking her head at me curiously.

I smiled as I took a second to think about that question. "I don't really know. I guess part of me is excited to have a grown-up job, but I'm also a little scared—like I'm stepping into a trap or something."

"What are you doing now?"

"I'm hostess at a restaurant. That's how I got the interview at Harris. I also work at a shoe store in the mall, and help my brother with some yard jobs during the summer."

"That's three jobs!" she said.

I smiled. "I guess it is."

"Will you quit all your other jobs if you get the one at Harris?"

I sighed. "That's the idea. I might still help my brother on the weekends some, if I'm not too tired."

"Did you ever think about taking the summer off?" she asked. "Just quit everything for a month or two while you contemplate your next move."

I let out a little laugh, but when I glanced at her, I could see that she was being serious. "I can't quit my jobs for a month or two," I said. "I still live at my dad's, so I don't have rent, but I have a car note and insurance, plus my phone. Not to mention the student loans that are about to start rolling in."

I smiled at the notion of taking a month or two off to "contemplate". How cute.

"So you worked your way through college?" she asked.

"I had a few scholarships, but they didn't cover everything. My dad's a good man. He put a roof over our heads, and he does what he can for my brother and me, but he's a blue-collar guy. My phone and my car, and anything extra like that has always been up to me."

"That's not so bad, I guess," she said.

"It's not bad at all. Compared to like 97 percent of the rest of the world, I'm filthy, stinkin' rich." I smiled at her. "It's just not an option for me to take a couple of months off work."

"If you're not in too big a hurry to join cooperate America, I could use a little help this summer."

I stared at her, wondering if she was serious, and she smiled as if she was.

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