Remembering Not

Work at the cafe this week has been the usual up and down. There will be rushes of customers for an hour or more when I look up and see a dozen or so orders. Just as soon as I get two finished, Robin replaces them with three more. There is no end in sight. And then before long, everyone in the house has been fed breakfast in under ten minutes. The calm has replaced the storm, the rush has ended. And then a lull will settle in, which no patrons will enter the doors for minutes on end. That’s how it is in the cafe industry. At this time, I busy myself with restocking  my supplies, chopping onions, peppers, tomatoes, and taking care of preparation that will soon be needed again. As my mind wanders, my attention to detail wanes. The intensity slips, the concentration slips, and sometimes the knife slips. This is not the product of any brain malfunction, however, it is the product of the venerable malaise that strike people of my age. Yes, I’m talking about the evil CRS. CRS (can’t remember shit) strikes a majority of 50+ baby boomers. It takes its main form in the fact that you know the face of the person you’re engaging, but there is no way in the world you remember their name. Oh, I have to leave here now. I just remembered, it’s time to head back home in hopes of procuring a new trache. Hopefully this will end the days of sleeping in a chair, not remembering what a bed feels like.