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The second Tuesday after the new school year begins, I show up for my regular day shift. I park in the back alley and go in through the service door. Today, the kitchen is strangely quiet. There’s only one cook, and he doesn’t look up from the cutting board. In the dining room, the music that’s usually pumped out of the stereo system has been turned down, and the few guests are talking in hushed voices. Servers walk slowly, with their heads down. The bar side is almost empty, and three servers are gathered around the big screen in the corner.
“Hi Mel,” one of them says as I walk up.
“What’s going on?”
“We’ve been attacked.”
She points to the screen, and I stand and watch as the Twin Towers collapse before my eyes. I stare, in shock, as CNN replays it: the plane, the contact, the smoke, the collapse. I’m dumbfounded. With my hand over my mouth, I watch the towers collapse over and over and over again.
“I can’t believe it.”
“I know,” a server says, brushing past me to the kitchen. I pick up my section and greet a new table in a friendly yet appropriately subdued voice. They are on their way back to Minneapolis, they tell me. They were going to go up to Grand Marais, a small arts village a couple hours north of Duluth, but they’ve decided that under the circumstances they wouldn’t feel right vacationing and having a nice time.
“I understand,” I say, nodding respectfully. It’s like they’re telling me their mother died or something. I almost say, “I’m sorry for your loss,” but I hold back.
I only have two more tables over lunch. All the customers are distraught, in shock. Everyone keeps saying, “Can you believe it?” The manager considers closing the restaurant for the day, but he doesn’t get the okay from corporate, so he keeps it open.
When I get home, I turn on CNN and watch the images of the planes hitting the towers and the towers collapsing and the smoke billowing. Each time the image repeats, I’m overwhelmed by the same terrible hopelessness and sadness.
I’m glued to CNN for the entire week following 9/11. Like many of my peers in school and at work, I can’t turn it off. It’s giving us all something, tying us together in some way. It’s giving all of us, who have no idea what to do, something to do. It’s keeping us informed of every new tidbit of information and allowing us to talk a common language amongst ourselves about those poor people, how terrifying! It could have been us, everyone decides. It could have happened to any of us, anywhere in the country. Imagine if the brave passengers hadn’t thwarted the efforts of the terrorists in the other plane; it could have been even worse!
It’s almost a relief when CNN presents George W. Bush’s public address in which he encourages all Americans to shop in order to help keep the economy strong in these uncertain times. Finally, something to do besides watching CNN’s repeating images. “I’ve been wanting some new clothes anyway,” a classmate says. Scott’s mom tells us that she’s buying herself that new washer and dryer she’s been wanting. “Might as well do it now!” she says. Everyone wants to help, to do something beyond themselves. So they do. CNN reports that the citizens are doing a great job, spending madly and keeping the country strong.
To help us do our part, we receive two new credit card offers in the mail. One has the credit card right in the envelope. All we have to do to accept the offer is call the toll-free number on the sticker across the card and enter our social security numbers. In less than five minutes, we have another thousand dollars at our disposal.
Scott and I head up to Sam’s Club, the bulk members-only warehouse by the mall. We’ll put the membership dues on our credit card, along with the case of Chunky soup, variety pack of granola bars, two-pound container of peanut butter, and box of frozen pizzas. We also find a good deal on Mr. Clean, garbage bags, and a new cordless phone, which will be great.
“What do you think of this, Mel?” Scott asks, calling me over to the appliances section.
“What is it?”
“An air purifier. It’d be nice to have. Make the air nice and clean.”
I shrug. I never thought the air quality was particularly bad in our apartment, but I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to have something that makes sure the air’s clean and pure. Get the dust out, and whatnot. “Sure,” I say. “If you want it, go for it.”
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