When I was about 4 or 5 years old, I had my first memory ordering my own meal in an old fashioned department store. I think it was either Bargain Harold's or a one of a kind local store located in the Cliffside part of Scarborough. The store itself was much like a byway or discount department store but on the left side of the entrance against the far wall there was an old diner counter seating about 8 and a few tables against the front window. This store became a usual spot for me on weekends since it was affordable for any family. I wore out many 10 dollar pairs of shoes from the blue and orange steal square discount bins. Those bins, they almost made up the entire store, and provided an excellent tunneling system to a curious little boy, just looking to get away from his mom. They crammed as many bins together as possible, so I would get lost exploring under them, just daydreaming, pretending to be an explorer or something while my mom shopped on. I suppose one day she had enough and sent me to sit at the diner counter until she was done, and I was given enough money for a donut and told to ask for a glass of water.

There were several men at the counter, mostly all senior citizens who were watching baseball on an old bulb glass television which was right above the seat I chose. Upon ordering a donut and a cold glass of water I was poked on the shoulder by a somewhat familiar old man next to me and was told I should eat a better meal than that. I showed him my money and as a gentleman he offered to buy me a grilled cheese. I of course accepted. Then a man wearing white asked me if I wanted white bread or brown, white, and if I wanted fries or soup, fries, and what I really wanted to drink, a chocolate milkshake. He ripped a piece of paper off his pad and got to work, and the old men asked me questions like if I had a girlfriend and if I liked baseball, and even why I was alone. I reassured them that mom was around, and took a closer look at what everyone else was eating. Some soup, a breakfast plate, a salad perhaps, and what was described to me to be a clubhouse sandwich. Then I first realized I had options, and that maybe next time I would get something else if I pleased.

That first moment of seeing exactly what I wanted finally arrive under my nose completely infected me forever. It didn't matter that the crust wasn't cut off or that the ketchup was warm and not cold. I was totally caught up in being catered to like a king with no argument in return. My spoils; a perfectly crisp grilled cheese fried golden brown on a flattop, with thick cheddar cheese, chunky crispy fries with a soft interior, and an ice cold milkshake all for me. The smell was greasy and perfect, and I devoured it all in no time. When my mom arrived I thanked the old man and said goodbye. That day is always replayed in my head; some old men, and a young kid, just enjoying their meals and having a good time watching our baseball team embarrass themselves.