Yesterday, I was lucky enough to wait on a family of nine on a beautiful Sunday afternoon in Lakewood. Not only did they run my ass off (the mother said she had worked in a restaurant and “knew how it was”), her daughter made a comment I wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry at.
“You know a place that’s really beautiful?” She asked. I asked where. “Seattle, Washington.”
“Oh yes, I plan on going up there next year,” I said, turning back to her after stacking their plates.
“Not to visit. To live,” she said. I looked at her quizzically. Was she really pulling the…
“We’re from here. We’re natives,” she said. Her mom looked at her like she had lost her mind. She had pulled the native card.
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