Where everybody knows your name

I've always wanted to be a regular. I've always wanted to walk in and have everyone know my name and -- in the event of a restaurant -- know my order.

I've had 4 "regular"-type experiences in my life. The first was when I was a lifeguard at a resort one summer of high school. I frequented the restaurant in the resort when I had meal breaks. Since my schedule was regular, as was the hostess's, she knew me and my order...and my employee discount. That barely counts because, in my mind, we were co-workers.

The second was a small hole-in-the-wall cafe I walked by to get to class freshman year. Three days a week, I got myself a Snapple. With little exception, I paid in exact change. He knew mine name and I knew his, and one day when I only had a $20-bill, he looked at me and said, "I can't change this this early in the day. Pay me tomorrow."

The year I was an RA, I was at the local market every night at 1 in the morning to get a plain bagel, toasted with butter. (And, usually, a can of coke for my then girlfriend...)

This summer I had a "regular" experience, but not food-service. It was my bank. There's something to be said for small-town banking, when the only ATMs are drive-through and they know exactly what time everyone comes in every Friday to deposit their paychecks.

But tonight, I watched the experience I've always wanted.

I was at a diner for dinner and I was the only person in the entire restaurant whose name was unknown. The old woman to my left and the slightly less old man to my right knew each other, knew the bus-boy, knew the hostess to the point that she came and said goodbye to them as she left for the shift-change, knew the booth across the aisle and participated in their conversations...

You get my point.

It was a strange experience. I felt out of place in a dinner I've eaten at a dozen times.

I want that one day.

But for now, I guess I'll just stick with being a regular in my own kitchen. I could do worse.