Every Saturday for the past several years, Susan and I have gone out for breakfast. Our first choice is always the Runway Cafe, a small diner located right off the runway at Wiley Post airport. We’ve gone to the Runway Cafe so many times that the waitresses stopped bringing us menus because they know what we order. When we walk through the door, someone races mugs of hot coffee to our regular table before we can sit. Every now and then we’ll change things up by visiting one of a few other local diners we enjoy, but we always seem to return to the Runway, where the food is as good as the service.
The outings aren’t really about the food, of course. It’s about spending an hour together, before weekend obligations begin and the cell phones start ringing. It’s one hour a week where we can sit and adult together with no laptops and no televisions. It’s one of the highlights of my week, every week.
The Runway Cafe closed five or six weeks ago. While many restaurants adapted to current ordinances by making food available for carry out and delivery, the Runway did not. The doors are locked and the lights are off. We’ve checked in person. Twice.
For the past month, our Saturday mornings have been spent eating instant oatmeal, scrambled eggs, and bowls of cereal. The television’s always on. Sometimes we don’t eat in the same room. I miss our outings. I miss the way things were. I miss the way the world was.
Last Saturday, Susan woke up early and announced we were going out for breakfast. We got in the car and called in a carry out order from Jimmy’s Egg, one of our backup locally-owned breakfast spots. Ordering over the phone was a bit like charades (“I want that one thing I get with the eggs and stuff”), but it worked out. After asking what make and color car we were driving, we were instructed to pull up behind the building and honk or call when we arrived. It didn’t seem like enough details to guarantee the right food would be delivered to the right car, but when we arrived we were literally the only people there picking up food, which greatly simplified the hand off process.
From there we drove to a local park. On our way there we saw vinyl banners hanging on restaurants assuring patrons they were still open, vinyl banners reminding Yukonites to “Keep Calm, Carry Out,” and vinyl banners reminding parents with stir crazy children that all city parks are closed until further notice. If anyone is doing well during this pandemic, it’s the people printing vinyl banners.
At the park, social distancing was in full effect. Even in the parking lot, cars were spaced apart. Parking next to someone else’s car no longer feels normal.
At the park, in our car, we had Saturday morning breakfast. There was no ketchup for my hash browns and no hot sauce for my eggs (I forgot to ask), but we did get silverware, so that’s something. For an hour, we watched the man jogging, the woman with her stroller, and the old man fishing. We talked, and laughed, and ate.
It was not normal, but it is our new temporary normal.
