[sim-pah-ti-koh, –pat-i-]


  1. congenial or like-minded; likable.

“Good evening, gentlemen,” I say as I set sourdough bread down on the seemingly full table. “It looks like you are set on drinks?” I have three other new tables and am trying to remember the drink order from table 17. Table 14 needs bread. More water on table 18. Did I give the specials on 17 yet? Do we still have enough pork chops to present them as a special? Do we still have enough pork chops for me to have one for dinner?

“What is your name?” the fellow in blue asks. I snap out of my waitress trance. I hadn’t realized I neglected to do my usual introduction. I turn to the man in blue and look him in the eye and breathe a deep breath. Be present. Don’t forget the Tito’s soda with a lemon wedge for table 17. But be present.

“I’m Beth. What is your name?”

He laughs, “Are you serious?”

I assure him I am and learn his name is Rich. I quickly learn he is a feisty sarcastic man and he and his three friends are simpatico to the core. They make eye contact, call me by name, ask questions about my life, seem interested in the answers, and are extremely witty. They remind me of my poker pals back home and I’m instantly comfortable joking around with them.

Somehow we start talking about my book about making friends as an adult. They have a wealth of knowledge and snarky remarks. I wish I had time to write more of them down. Rich asks if I need an editor.

“Oh, are you an editor?”


I give him my email address anyway.

“Send me an email and then I’ll have your email address. That is how that works,” I say.

“Oh, is it? Can you write that down for me?” he quips back.

They start to joke about ordering a mud pie to celebrate Rich’s recent Medicare eligibility. I laugh.

“Why is that funny?” he asks, as if he is offended.

“Because you look far too young to be on Medicare.”

“Oh, Beth, you’ve got this friend-making thing down.”

Simpatico folks make it awfully easy.

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