PHOTO: Mary van Balen
This snowy winter day found me walking the streets of Charleroi, Pennsylvania. Actually, I was doing more slipping and sliding than walking. Anyone could tell by my gingerly pace and occasional grasp at a parking meter for balance that I am basically a flatlander who, while used to messy slush, had little experience with walking through it up and down hills.
I passed lots of empty storefronts and buildings for rent. I was looking for a place to stop for a hot cup of tea and maybe a sandwich. A look to the left revealed the golden arches; a look across the street showed a cheerful plump statue of a chef holding an authentic GYROS sign standing by the entrance to Paolos Pizza and Pastaria. As if to add balance, a blue scarfed snowman waved from the other side of the front doors, and pointed to a sign advertising a Sunday Pasta Brunch.
Avoiding puddles of dirty slush, I made my way to Paolos, local always my choice over chains. The neat interior was empty except for two people dressed in black eating lunch. I assumed correctly that they worked there. They both rose when they saw me, the woman hurrying toward the back, the man telling me to make myself comfortable anywhere Id like. I picked a table, draped my coat over a chair to dry and sat on another so I could look out the front windows at the snowy street.
In a moment, a waitress appeared with the menu and returned with hot tea and water to take my order. She had been gone only moments when a man walked through the front doors and asked if Chris was taking good care of me.
Im not sure if its Chris, but someone is, I said, hands wrapped around my teacup drawing whatever heat from it that they could.
Ill bring you soup to warm you up, he said and delivered a steamy bowl of Italian wedding soup that deliciously chased the chill away. As I sat savoring the little meatballs, another customer wandered it.
Hello! I bet you’re cold. Can I bring you a cup of coffee on me?
Another customer.
Hello sir. How ya doing? How about a big meatball while you wait.
Soon my pizza arrived. I had no intention of eating it all. I would box up three of the six pieces I told myself, but as I ate and watched a TV with the volume off showing an old black and white Tarzan type movie, I thought taking two slices home would be fine. When the waitress came with the check I was guiltily eating the last slice. I had to confess.
I didnt plan on eating the entire pizza when I started, but it was so good
Dont feel bad, she said. I do that about twice a week.
So, I didnt. I paid the bill, walked across the street and snapped a photo. In a society that has become increasingly uncivil and impersonal, the stop at Paolos warmed me up with food and friendliness and a helping of hope for the future. If youre ever in Charleroi give them a try, and tell them I sent you. You wont be disappointed.
© 2011 Mary van Balen
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