As an unemployed teenager on Cape Cod, there’s not much to do outside of food service. Some friends donned park service uniforms reminiscent of the Mounties and sold beach passes. A few joined landscaping crews, careening down Route 6A in trucks rusted by the salty air. One babysat Howard Zinn’s grandchildren.
My time at the diner was brief. But in that time I learned many things, some worthwhile (how to prepare Eggs Benedict, how to enjoy whisky milkshakes) and some not-so-worthwhile (where to reliably find extra ketchup packets on the supply truck).