"We'd like more coffee over here."
"The sandwich is good, but I don't like the lettuce."
"Can we get some more water?"
"Bless you heart, we'd like our check."
"Do you have high chairs?"
"I'd like this wrapped."
"Separate checks, please."
"There will be ten of us."

And I smile. When with every moment my mental energy is being slowly and steadily drained by the iron hand of responsibility; When I can't find the busser and three tables need to be cleared; When I haven't sat down for two seconds in the past eight hours; When exhaustion is all my body is aware of, and all my mind needs to ignore; When, if I allowed it, the minute details of pleasing people could overwhelm and disable me, I smile. Because the triumph of succeeding in pleasing those people is such a sweet satisfaction. Because any one of these people could turn into a regular, with a name like Bob or Charlotte, who will add so much in a conversation, to my life. Because they're people, who need to know that in the moment they ask me for extra lemon, I am concerned about them, and will not fail them in this request. So I smile, and say 'of course.' And when I get home I will think about them for the next hour and a half, I will dream about them in the night, I will write about them in my book, and they will have become a part of my life, a part of my past, a part in shaping me into the woman I've yet to be.