The Tired Hand

On a recent car trip through New Mexico, I stopped near Alamogordo for lunch at a cafe called “The Hired Hand.” It had lots of ambiance. On one dining room wall was a sign, “I’m on a thirty-day diet. So far I’ve lost 15 days.” Last weekend, their ice cream scoop was missing They believe a ghost hangs out in the kitchen and took it.

In three more days, “The Hired Hand” will feed no more mouths. The friendly waitress, with plain blue tattoos on both wrists, has worked here for 18 months, and never missed a day. No one else lasted more than a month, she says. Elton John is singing, “Goodbye Yellow Brick Road” on the radio. Above the urinal in the mens room is a hand-sewn notice: “I aim to keep this bathroom clean. Your aim would help.”

When I first entered Alamogordo, just past Holloman Air Force Base, the first business I saw was an adult video store, its parking lot filled with pick-ups. It’s probably located as close to the base as zoning allows. This area appeals to a lot of retired veterans.

It may be that in a military retirement area, an adult video store will always attract more customers than a cafe with a ghost in the kitchen, but I think “The Hired Hand” closed because of its name. This is just my psychological view. I’m not a Jung man. I saw the adult video store first, and was probably thinking unconsciously about it when I arrived at the cafe, and looked up at the sign. Instead of seeing, “The Hired Hand,” I misread it as “The Tired Hand.” My reading was, no doubt,a Freudian slip, but I no longer had an appetite for a sandwich you eat from your hands.