Life long patron of greasy spoon work day cafes I am. Steamy, honestly worn down places they have all been. My fellow patrons industrial workers like me. The hungover underpaid fuckers who day after day accomplish the tasks necessary to keep our consumptive society from rioting.
The first one was the Pacific Cafe aka Sloppy Joe's. It was located at 8th and Columbia, then a busy bus exchange in New Westminster. There I'd be fed stacks of buck wheat pancakes I would wash down with black coffee before I transferred to the bus that took me to my first sawmill. The life of work early in the morning workers like me sitting side by side the street crazies Columbia Street has long featured.
"You got a girl?" my favourite old waitress would ask me every Friday morning with a wink meaningful enough to make me blush sometimes. I ought to have given her a good shagging but I only had eyes for punk rock girls in those days.
That first 1,000 man sawmill of mine had its own cafeteria, a cafeteria big enough for hundreds of men to sit shoulder to shoulder. They had a couple specials every day, prepared cinnamon buns that were still warm for the day's first coffee break and poured as much coffee every day as all the city corporate coffee shops do today. On Fridays any and all leftovers got mixed into meatloaf sturdy as the men who ate it.
None of the cooks there appeared to have any interest in the men they made change for every day. "Stop looking at me like that Beer," was all I got out of them when I tried chatting them up on Fridays.
My second sawmill had no cafe nearby but there was a pub nearby the thirsty could rush to and back on lunch breaks. No one bought coffee. We would phone ahead and our table would be covered in drinks we would down in less than 10 minutes as we paid in cash before we sped back to work.
"Doesn't your boss get pissed at you for coming back to work half cut every day?" we were sometimes asked. Our boss was drunker than us.
Third sawmill had an excellent cafe close at hand. Cambodian couple ran it 6 - 3 every day. Husband cooking while his wife delivered the meals, shrugged off complaints and kept everyone's coffee cups full.
"How come you work in sawmill Beer? If you had better job you could order steak and eggs every morning, not logger breakfast."
Since then my employment has been steadier and I have had two different cafes to choose from (as well as a pub). Both cafes run by a series of Korean couples. Do not get a lot of conversation out of those folks but they can sure cook.
"How come every day you order same thing. Husband get bored making you same omelette. He say like fucking same woman every day!"
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xdAajdBjG90&list=OLAK5uy_nyBLB5mpZ1Lu_lHRp4ub3jGYM492is9VQ
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