Prologue :: Pam :: Perkins :: June 1998

I had to stop kidding myself.

There had to be nice, decent human beings out there.. somewhere.

If they didn’t frequent the local Perkins-- well, that was okay. There was a big world out there, beyond Scranton.

I still had faith.

I reminded myself, constantly, that I would never settle for less than a good tipper as a husband.

Because, unlike some guys, my husband wouldn’t get reprimanded for being nice to the waitress and leaving her twenty percent of the bill. I wouldn’t misconstrue being polite for being flirty, because I’d remember.

I’d remember all the nights where I made eight dollars.
I’d remember all the arguments with the chefs and the hands burnt from filling up hot tea.

I’d remember the way my shoes squeaked against the floor in the dining room, annoying me to no end.

I’d remember the other girls and the way they laughed when I spilled things.

I’d remember little kids with french fry fights and parents with no sympathy for the messes I had to endure.

I’d remember locking up, eating half a sandwich all day, pulling my frizzy hair back to a ponytail on days where it just wouldn’t stay put.

I’d remember-- and until I found the right guy, a good guy-- I’d always make sure the tip was decent, double, and even triple-checking the amounts.

Because I knew how it felt to be stared at, depended on, yelled at mercilessly for someone else’s mistake.

And I would never, ever forget.

Last day at Perkins, last day of high school.

I wasn’t sure if my boyfriend, Roy, would make the cut.

He honked the horn of his truck and called, “Pammy!”

I didn’t say goodbye to anyone inside, didn’t need to.

I would find what I was looking for.