99 finito

I was working again today, and we have mostly regulars in the cafeteria. Oldies fit enough to move around (well, sorta) and during the last two years I have learned what most of them order. Mind you, they are not all that predictable, if it's hot like today they move from hot tea to icetea or to icecream.

Anyway, when you walk in through the entrance there is a table where you can write your condolences to the last person who died. Up until now I have never known any of them, 'cause they have never been visiting the cafe. I have never been to the top floors, but I understand that's where all the really sick people are.

Today I passed the table, but didn't recognize the person, so I didn't sign.

Later in the afternoon the ladies at the table, reserved for the regulars, told me that a regular had passed away. The guy who always had his two daughters visiting, along with an entourage, loving rose wine. I took great pleasure in serving them, they were always easy to please (as long as there was enough wine), and I marvelled over that a guy his age still was enjoying his alcohol.

The reason I didn't recognize his picture at the entrance, was that he apparently was vain, he had chosen a picture from when he was quite a bit younger. It made me smile. I mean I didn't smile that he died, but I smiled 'cause I think that when a 99-year-old still is vain, it gives me hope. Hope that one can still live no matter what age.