My Only Story with Conan

The end of 2006 to the first part of 2007 was a strange time in my life. I lived in Virginia, but was spending lots of time in North Carolina. I was married, but newly separated. I was a college graduate, but working at a tiny diner in the industrial part of town, waiting tables and doing dishes for the same bunch of roughnecks every day.

On weekdays, I showed up at the diner a little before 6:00 AM, started the coffee, grunted a greeting at Tim, the owner/cook, turned on the radio, and spent a few minutes crying in the bathroom before the first customer arrived. At opening time, it was also time for the Daily Gospel According to Forrest, an obstreperous geezer who thought there was nothing wrong with the world that couldn't be fixed with a well-placed nuclear explosion. Between the Gospel and 10:30, there wasn't much going on. I'd write little stories in the margins of the discarded newspaper and throw things at Tim whenever he said something insensitive - roughly every ten minutes.

Next, lunch: Billy and Huey at the end of the counter - Billy's place with a Diet Coke, Huey with a Sprite. The brothers Harris (no relation to me) at the table in the corner, Ronnie from Maypaw Tire one over, and the guys from the AAA garage would take up the other end of the counter. What a great bunch of guys. It was like Cheers, but without alcohol (and if Carla wasn't pregnant all the time, was double her height, and had purple hair).

The problem with going home after spending all day there was that it was sooooo quiet. So, most Fridays, after the lights were off and the sign was flipped to CLOSED and Tim had been told to go to hell, I drove to my weekend home - Emily's couch in North Carolina. I've known her since 2nd grade, and she was gracious enough to take me in when I needed a break from uncomfortable silence. Aside from the camaraderie and space from my problems, I enjoyed a constant dull roar. Emily has two cats who would rummage and run around, and at least at the time, she had a habit of leaving the TV on all night, tuned to NBC, I guess so she could hear it faintly as white noise in the next room.

Since I was a guest and not bothered by it, I just left the TV on. Those Friday nights, I slept better than I did any other night of the week, drifting off to the antics of Conan O'Brien, in a place where I was at least temporarily safe from the crap that was getting me down. So thanks, Conan, for having stuff like a guy dressed up like a wookiee on your show, and for helping me fall asleep with a smile during a time when those were at a premium.