Care Free at the Busy Bee

Behind the counter at Busy Bee | Photograph by Allan Lasser

I somehow only just discovered the Busy Bee Diner, about a block down Beacon Street past St. Mary’s. It’s my new favorite place on campus. The coffee is hot and cheap, the sandwiches are fat and filling, and the staff knows how to mind their own damn business.

There’s something special about the Busy Bee Diner. In some ways, it’s forgotten by time. Busy Bee is the place imitated by every insecure dineresque-Americana strip-mall restaurant opened in the last four years. The seats are powder blue and the tables chrome-rimmed. The walls are lined with mirrors and photographed portraits of Monroe, Dean, and Taylor, along with landscapes of old Boston and the Greek countryside. Still, it’s so locked into the present moment that I leave with less respect for my own time management. Every waitress and cook is struggling to keep up with their orders. There’s no wasting time with pretensions, expectations, and desires. Here’s a friendly tip: if there’s no line, don’t stand around like an idiot waiting to be seated. Just sit down. Nobody cares.

It’s almost shocking, the lack of interest displayed by the staff in the business of anyone except themselves. The staff doesn’t even mess with each other, aside from calling out orders from the counter to the kitchen. The waitresses will take orders, serve food, and then leave the customers alone. The diner provides welcome shelter from the busybodiness of Boston University, where academics evaluate everything and campus organizations police thoughts and speech.

This was all made painfully apparent when I got lunch on Friday. It was hot outside and hotter in the kitchen. One of the cooks sat down to my right with a glass of water and a pale, pained face. He wasn’t breathing very well. A regular customer sitting on my left, someone from the neighborhood, looked over with concern. After a few minutes of short breathing, he got up and went somewhere else.

Some time passed. Both the concerned customer and I finished our lunches. I stuck around for a coffee, but she got up to leave. She went to find and say goodbye to the sick cook and on her way out she told our waitress, “He might be having a heart attack. Somebody ‘oughta call an ambulance.”

“He’d call himself if he needed one,” interrupted the breakfast cook, his back turned to the conversation. He whisked an omelet with furious productivity. “Just let him rest.”

Eventually, after the protest of a few more regulars, the breakfast cook called the ambulance. When the police showed up, the waitresses and cooks paid them no attention. The police did their policing and the cooks their cooking. Everybody minded their own business.

I finished my coffee and left. The ambulances had shown up—there was an EMT unfolding a steel stretcher. A man watched the EMT work as he lit a cigarette. As I was unlocking my bike, I heard a woman, a nonsmoker, a stranger, nagging him.

“You shouldn’t be smoking at your age,” she said. “I smoked for twenty years, only way I could quit was with hypnosis! You really should quit soon. If I were you I’d quit yesterday.” I was reminded how, out from under the shelter of the Busy Bee, my business was once again everybody’s.

About Allan Lasser

Allan Lasser is a CAS senior double majoring in Computer Science and American Studies. He publishes The Quad, but that doesn't mean you can send him angry/solicitous emails.

View all posts by Allan Lasser →

2 Comments on “Care Free at the Busy Bee”

  1. Great piece, but the Busy Bee has a history that might make you think twice about the safe haven. Legend has it that some bad guys used to have meet-ups there to discuss their shady dealings. A waitress overheard their conversations, took notes, and turned everything she learned over to the FBI. Don’t let its demeanor fool you. The Busy Bee knows all.

  2. There was also a Busy Bee eatery where I grew up and spent all my younger life. However, this Busy Bee was a fast hamberger place used mostly for the beach crowd.

    Where ?….. Just ask Ashley.

    Harry

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