I’m a happily retired software engineer. When I finally stepped away from work, I had one goal: publish a book. Just one.
About a year later, I did. It was a short-story collection titled The Time Merchant Café — Now Open. It was not a bestseller. In fact, outside of family and friends—who I more or less threatened into reading it—my confirmed readership consisted of two ladies in Florida. I treasure them both.
Not long after that, on my way to meet some former coworkers for lunch, I met the Waiter.
I was about halfway to our lunch spot when my GPS insisted I take the next exit. I knew there was no exit there. I turned the GPS off. It turned itself back on. After losing the argument several times, I gave up and followed its directions. I figured it might be more interesting than lunch—no offense to the guys.
The road led nowhere useful. It once served a long-gone company and now existed for reasons I couldn’t identify. And then, in the middle of absolutely nowhere, a café appeared.
I parked. I had nothing to lose, and I could use the walk to stretch my back anyway. There was no one outside. I pulled on the door, not expecting it to open.
It did.
Inside, there was only one man. Impeccably dressed. Calm. Interesting in a way that made the room feel smaller. I took half a step inside.
“Have a seat, Ron,” he said.
I turned back toward the door.
“Ron,” he added, “please have a seat and enjoy an excellent cup of coffee.”
I stood there, unsure what to do.
“You’re a writer,” he continued. “An adequate one. And I have a proposition for you.”
That was enough.
“No thanks,” I said. “Whatever you’re selling, I have absolutely no interest.”
I reached for the door.
“I’ve read your book,” he said. “The stories could use a little help. Sit. Enjoy the coffee. Listen to what I have to say. It will cost you nothing. No harm will come to you. And the coffee is really quite good.”
Reluctantly, I walked to the table where a cup of coffee waited. I sat and took a sip.
It really was good coffee.
“Do I get another cup if I listen?” I asked.
“Yes.”
I stopped him before he could continue. “Wait—why is your café out in the middle of nowhere? You’re not going to get many customers.”
He showed a very slight smile. “You are the only customer I want. Only those I invite enter through that door.”
That was… not comforting. I started to stand.
“Again,” he said calmly, “no harm will come to you here. And if you listen to my offer, I’ll bring you another cup of coffee.”
I took another sip. Did I mention the coffee was really good?
“Fine,” I said. “First the coffee.”
He returned with a fresh cup—and several leather-bound journals.
“I am known as the Waiter,” he said. “And I am immortal. I have been around since the beginning of time.”
I’m still not sure why I wasn’t more alarmed. Perhaps it was the coffee. Or perhaps the story was simply too good not to hear.
“I invite people into my café to change the course of their lives,” he continued. “I’ve been told some of those stories are interesting. I want you to write them.”
I touched the journals. They felt old. I opened one. The date read 1537 AD. I looked up.
“I did mention I’ve been operating this café for a very long time,” he said.
I read another journal. Then a more contemporary one.
“You’re telling me these stories are real?”
“Yes.”
“And you want me to write them in my own way?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I have a close friend—Helen. She is also immortal. She believes the stories should be shared. I preferred they remain private. We compromised. I would choose the author.”
“You chose me.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“You are not well known. Your writing is adequate. It will not attract much attention. I get my stories told. Helen is satisfied. And very few people actually read them.”
“You’re telling me you picked me because I’m a bad writer?”
“Not bad,” he said. “Adequate.”
“What do I get out of this?”
“Some excellent stories.”
That’s how it started.
He also showed me a few details about the Kennedy assassination, but that’s in the books—specifically The Time Merchant Café — Still Open, which is based directly on those journals.
Email Ron at: theimmortalwaiterbooks@hotmail.com