We have a sweet, older, black lady who works here in our cafeteria named Delores. Delores works in the deli, making sandwiches. I don’t know how long she’s been here, but, she’s been making me sandwiches for a long time. She knows what kind of bread I like, that I like regular turkey, as opposed to smoked; she knows I don’t want a pickle with my sandiwch. Our conversations have never strayed from things having to do with sandwiches. Delores is not one for small talk. She has sandwiches to make for people. Still, she’s part of my life here where I work. One of those comforting, familiar faces that I have come to love over the last 10 years.
Word gets around because Delores just asked me, “Are you leaving?” I told her “Yeah, unless I find something else, which I’m working on.” “Well” Delores says, “I sure hope you find something else.” I thanked her and went on to pay for my stuff.
When I got back up to my desk to eat my turkey sandwich, I noticed Delores had put extra turkey on there. She usually puts the exact same amount of meat on each sandwich, but, this one had noticeably much more than usual. I guess the mother in her came out and she wanted to make sure I had enough meat stored for the winter. Pretty sweet.