I was recently listening to my favorite radio show, The Glen Jones Radio Programme Featuring X.Ray Burns, when X.Ray shared some sad news: The Skyway Diner had gone out of business.
My thoughts immediately went back 5 years, to December 26, 2003. I was returning from a holiday visit to some great friends in central Jersey. As I drove north, it seemed like the perfect time to finally visit the Skyway Diner in South Kearny. I’d driven past the eatery on several occasions, though almost always by accident, due to its out-of-the-way location. The Skyway looked very much like my sort of place. But though open 24 hours a day on weekdays, it seemed to always be closed when I did my weekend wandering. Finally, I had my chance.
I enjoyed my time at the diner and I wrote a positive review. However, I omitted some details, which I hinted at with the words “this is not the place to bring the children after a soccer game.” Now, with the passing of the Skyway, I am comfortable coming forward with—as Paul Harvey might say—the rest of the story.
Upon finishing my meal on that long-ago day after Christmas, I headed toward the men’s room. As I reached the door leading to the restrooms, a woman stepped out. This was curious, as she hadn’t entered the diner while I was there. (As one of the only people in the place, I had noticed any comings or goings.) So she must have been in the restroom area the whole time. She was ultra-thin, was missing teeth, and was dressed in shabby layers. Honestly, she could’ve passed for an extra on The Wire.
“Mister, you want a date?” she asked.
“No thank you,” I said, somewhat taken aback.
“You got a truck?” she persisted.
“No,” I answered.
This charming story might have ended there. But because I was writing a review, I needed to jot down the diner’s hours of operation, which were posted on the front door. And after I’d paid my bill and stepped outside, that’s precisely where my restroom friend was now standing.
“You don’t want a date?” she asked again.
“No, it’s OK,” I politely reiterated. “Thank you, though.”
“Can I have a dollar for the bus?”
I gave her a dollar.
“I’ll do a blowjob for $8.”
“It’s OK,” I said. “I’m sick.” (I tend to make odd excuses when I am troublingly propositioned.)
“You got AIDS?” she inquired.
“No,” I clarified. “Just a cold/flu thing.”
“You can use my Medicaid card,” she offered, then thought about it for a moment, and added with a laugh, “but you’ll have to act like a lady.”
Taking my leave of the Skyway on that late-December night, the thought “I just had a conversation with a crack whore” did admittedly cross my mind. But something greater is ultimately what stayed with me, after thinking about that Medicaid comment: This woman—clearly down on her luck—made a selfless, generous offer to a complete stranger who she felt was in need. All kidding aside, isn’t that what the holidays are really about?
Merry Christmas, everyone.
Jack Silbert, curator