No one knows when the cafeteria showed up in the middle of midtown Manhattan.  Last week, people knew for certain, it was a bank.  Some old folks seemed to think it maybe was once a cafeteria, but it was so long ago and those folks’ memories can’t be trusted, so no one was sure.  

But it was here now.  It took up such a large amount of real estate, and real estate is  expensive in midtown Manhattan.  Surely there must be some paperwork on a large financial transaction?  But people couldn’t find anything.  Moreover, no one could figure out how it had been built, so quickly and seemingly overnight, without anyone actually seeing the construction.   

It had been months since anyone had left their houses.  There had been a pandemic and everyone was ordered to their homes.  But they still had windows, and there were people who couldn’t stay indoors, who didn’t have an indoors to go to or who had jobs that could not be done from indoors.  But none of them could say where the cafeteria had come from.  

“It’s beautiful and clean looking,” one woman said, peeking in the window.  There were no people working inside, just rows and rows of what looked like vending machines.  But there were also no customers inside.  

“Is it safe to go in? Is it safe to eat indoors?” people asked, and they too peered in the windows to check it out.  

“I think it’s safe,” a portly man said confidently, though he had no particular evidence for this assertion.  He believed in speaking from his gut, and he believed that his gut was almost always right. 

There was no sign on the door demanding people wear masks, like there were on every other restaurant door these days.  Outside, some people had masks on, but some of those were worn improperly.  Also there was a wide range of types of masks.  Some were medical grade N95 and some were charming looking hand sewn garments.  Some had political statements on them, but no one seemed to be taking the time to read them.  

“Mommy, can we go in? I’m hungry!”  a small child demanded outside.  Her face too was covered, and her mother’s was as well.  

“I guess we can,” the woman said, looking haggard and tired.  She was carrying heavy bags, they had been out shopping for hours and she would like nothing more than to be done.  

She opened the door, slowly.  

Once she was inside, she couldn’t find her mask.  She thought she must have dropped it on the ground somewhere, but couldn’t see it, and the same was true for her daughter.  They both looked frightened.  It had been such a long time since they went anywhere without a mask.  

The woman found an empty table and put her bags on it.  Her daughter settled into a chair and waited to be served. Her mother did not sit. 

“I think we have to order the counter,” she mused out loud.  “You wait here.” 

“I want pizza mommy,” the little girl declared, and her mother nodded at her.  

She went up to the display cases and examined all the options. So much fresh hot food, just waiting for her to choose it. Nothing she had to cook, and she’d cooked her all her meals for so many months she was sick of her own cooking.  She was overwhelmed by the choices. 

And it was only a nickel!  That’s what the sign said above the cases, anyway, and the woman could hardly believe it.   

“I’ll have an egg salad sandwich,” the woman said finally. “On rye. And a side of matzah ball soup, please.  And one small kids’ pizza.”  

There was no one around to take her order, but the woman was used to ordering in this way.  She found the cases that had egg salad sandwiches, matzah ball soup, and pizza, and inserted three nickels. 
She was surprised at how fresh the food seemed when she slid the door open.  

“You should get the egg cream too,” a man’s voice said behind her, which startled the woman. Where had he come from? He was sitting at a table right by the machines, a cup of coffee in front of him.  She hadn’t seen him come in, though.   

Still, she put two more nickels in and got two egg creams, because it sounded good.  She carried all of her food over to where her daughter was sitting. 

“I like it here, mommy,” the girl bounced happily in her chair.  “Can we come here again?” 

“We can try, sweetie,” the woman smiled at the little girl. “We don’t get into the city very much anymore…and especially not since…well.  I don’t know how long this place has even been here.” 

“I don’t remember ever going out to eat before, mommy,” the girl continued. 

“Oh sweetie, we used to go out to eat all the time…before….you don’t remember?” 

The little girl shook her head sadly.  The woman felt deeply grieved at this, but she tried to remind herself, she doesn’t remember things from six months ago.  That’s why.  It’s not because the world shut down.  It’s just how her little brain works. 

“Some place, huh?” The older man was now at the next table and leaned over to them.  He nodded at the woman and put a plastic toy in front of her daughter, whose eyes got wide. But the woman hadn’t seen him walking across the restaurant. 

“Yeah,” the woman said, relieved to talk to another adult about what she was seeing, but also slightly unsettled. “When did this place open up?” 

“No one knows,” the old man said. 

“And…masks?” she whispered, though her daughter could still hear her, “I thought they were mandated still? 

“They are,” the man said, “But not in here.” 

“But…won’t they get shut down?” the woman looked around fearfully, as if expecting the Board of Health to come storming in at that moment. 

“You’ll see,” the old man said. 

The woman took in the restaurant.  It was like something from another era – stainless steel counters, vinyl chairs and stainless steel tables, elegant art lining the wall.  There’s no music playing and yet it’s not quiet, there’s a steady hum of customer noises and people cooking in the back, but the place seems strangely empty for the amount of noise.  

“Number forty-seven!”  a voice hollered from the counter. The woman goes up to retrieve her food and comes back to the table.  Her daughter was now playing happily with the little toy. She wonders if she’s actually customer number forty-seven today, finding that hard to believe given how empty it is right now.  Maybe it’s from the week? 

“It’s been so long since we were around other people,” the woman said to the old man, who had an cup of coffee in front of him but seemed in no hurry to leave.  “It’s just been the two of us.” 

“It’s like that for so many people,” the old man nodded sympathetically at her.  

“I wish I lived closer,” the woman murmured sadly. 

“Oh, you won’t be able to come back,” the old man said nonchalantly.  

“What do you mean?” the woman asked in alarm. 

“You’ll see,” the old man said. 

The woman was now getting a funny feeling about the old man and moved to the chair further away from his table and focused on eating her sandwich.  The old man picked up a newspaper, read it for a while, sipped his coffee for a long slow time, talked to employees behind the counters and bussing the tables and sitting at other tables.  She wondered how long he’d been there. 

“Well,” the woman said, “We have to get home to Brooklyn.”  Her daughter had finished off her pizza and was now running the toy all up and down the table and the floor, singing a song as she went.  She’d gotten a little break from being on her feet, and she felt remarkably rejuvenated considering it had been a very short break.  Even her daughter looked more lively than when they’d come in.  

“Do we have to?” she complained, but she didn’t object as her mother put her coat back on, loaded back up with bags, and headed for the door. She looked back. The old man was still there, still drinking his coffee.  How long would he be there, she wondered. 

She opened the door and left. 

Immediately she felt the cold winter air on her face. That was when she didn’t mind masks so much – they kept her face warm.  She reached in her pocket to grab hers and most surprisingly, her mask was back in her pocket. Her daughter put hers on too.  

She glanced behind her.  To her shock, the cafeteria she’d just come out of was gone. It had turned into a Bank of America and a cell phone store.  How was that possible?  She peered in the window, hoping to see the old man, but he was gone.  Only bank tellers and bank offices and vaults.  And everyone was wearing a mask.