"I love this place," I said as we pulled into the parking lot. "They have the most wonderful pies. There's always a long wait for a table, but we have time."
The last time I was here there was a long line of eager customers. The restaurant was humming with conversations, busy waitresses and stacked plates. And the pies displayed proudly in the case up front were lovely: every one a work of art. When the waitress brought us ours, they were steaming and delicious and well worth the wait.
But something was different this time. There were empty places in the parking lot, and only a few bored customers waiting. There were quite a few empty tables, too. Then as we waited for the server, I noticed a large sign on the wall: "PIE IN A CUP", it read, with a dozen pictures of their new "pies": pie fillings slopped into plastic cups labeled "Apple Pie", "French Silk Pie", and so on. They all looked alike. I gazed at it in dismay.
Have you ever made a pie? To make a good pie - with a light crust and a neat edge, and bake it just the right amount of time - takes skill and patience. A four-year-old can slop some pudding in a cup. You have to care and take pride in your work to make a pie.
We ate our mediocre meal in silence. Afterward, at the register, when the waitress asked brightly, "And how was everything today?", I let my spouse answer politely, while I gazed again at that ridiculous poster. How sad, I thought. One more fine and good thing tossed away for the cheap and easy.
It gnawed at me all day, and now here I was, lying sleepless, thinking about it again. It really rankled me. What's wrong with me, I thought, turning over. It's just a stupid piece of pie, for heaven's sake.
Then slowly it dawned on me why I'd been feeling this way: it was so much more.
Just think of all the things that used to be our part of our everyday lives that have faded into oblivion.
The friendly face of the teller has disappeared, and now we punch buttons to check out at the store. Good work by hand has been replaced by impersonal machines, and fine quality faded into cheap imitation. And the skilled hands of a baker making a lovely pie has been replaced by a bored employee slopping pudding in a cup.
Oh, I'm sure someone said, this way will be easier and cheaper. We're short-staffed, and the customers won't care. And no one stopped to think what they'd lose or consider other ways to keep their profits up.
I don't want to be one of those people who's always complaining about how things were better before. Things change. The playground I played in as a child is gone. The faces of people I used to see every day have disappeared one by one. I had to leave behind the work I loved years ago. Most of all, many people dear to my heart have left this earth.
Life moves on, and we have to change, too.
But when something fine and good leaves us, someone should at least say something, if only to honor it when it disappears.
So here's to a steaming slice of pie with a hot cup of fine coffee, served by a smiling waitress in a bustling cafe. We will miss you.
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