By Cheryl Ryan
Two old friends reached out in January. Both were unexpected, and both were inspired by a card. My very first roommate called on a recent Saturday morning. I met her while working at Bonanza Sirloin Pit on my falsified work permit – I wasn’t sixteen yet. She was the day manager, a whopping three years older than me. Our dress code was a black (ridiculously short) skirt, an orange plaid peasant blouse and black felt cowboy hat. It was my first and only waitressing job and it still looms large as my most memorable employment experience.
Probably because it was my first taste of independence and I interviewed and got the job myself. I felt very grown up. Eventually, I moved out with two of the girls I worked with. I went on to be a bridesmaid at their weddings, and as we moved apart we continued to share our growing families through holiday cards.
Written on the back of one of the last cards I’d sent, Linda, I included my cell number with a note to call sometime. This was probably ten years ago. Recently retired, she got organized at home, found my card, and took me up on my offer. I didn’t pick up. I thought it was junk. Luckily she left a message, and I called back the next day.
