My favorite waitress, a latte, and a smile

There’s a waitress at the Gadsden Hotel in Douglas, Arizona, whose name is Fatima. She’s there on Sunday morning when I need her most. More than the coffee, and more than the Sunday comics and word puzzles, she’s there.

I sit at the bar in the café. Usually, the other stools are empty. It’s not the most comfy setup, especially if you have long legs. Fortunately, I don’t. On Sunday mornings, local families come in for morning brunch. Visitors to town and hotel guests walk in and out.

The café is the most modern and least extravagant section of the historic Gadsden, once billed as the last of the grand hotels. The outside of the building, erected in 1907 and then rebuilt after a fire in 1928, is unassuming. What looks like a big, plain square building surprises visitors with what’s inside. Stained glass windows, marble columns, and a grand staircase. Legends of ghosts in room 333 and pictures of celebrities who’ve visited help make the place feel magical.

And then there’s Fatima. She’s not like the rest of the Gadsden. Its grandness and fanciness, its overwhelming feeling of awe and history. She’s just Fatima, and she’s there every Sunday morning.

I like it when there is something, someone, there for you when you expect them, even if they don’t know that you need them. I order a latte every Sunday…