My name’s Esther. I’m 72, and I’ve been waitressing at the same little diner in a small Texas town for over twenty years. Most folks are kind. Some are hurried. A few are cranky until they’ve had their coffee. But nearly everyone shows basic decency. Last Friday, one woman decided she didn’t have to. I may not move as fast as I once did, but I don’t forget orders, I don’t spill drinks, and I treat every customer like they’re sitting at my own kitchen table. That’s how I was raised, and that’s how I’ve always done the job. I…
