“How are you?” inquires the arriving customer.

“I’m allright… I have to pee,” responds the waitress. A customer at the bar lifts his head and looks questioningly at the cook. “That’s just Wendy,” says the cook, shaking his head in amusement.

Yes, that is just Wendy, my waitress at Beth’s Café on Aurora Avenue in Seattle. She is one of those women who are ageless, but ageless in a way that is neither good nor bad. She wears stylish dark denim jeans with gold stitching on the back pockets, vintage tennis shoes, and a black long sleeve shirt that will not stain under the spills of a thousand coffee cups. She is petite, a woman that you know can eat Beth’s greasy meals day after day and still fit into her prom dress (that is, if Wendy ever went to the prom, which she seems undoubtedly too cool to have done). Her hair is cut into a short bob and dyed black, matching her shirt, and in some ways her attitude. She could be described as pretty, but there is something about her stern jaw and striking blue eyes that projects brutal wisdom in such a way as to make me cower and meekly reply “yes” as she inquires “Just you today?”

When Beth’s opened its doors in 1954, it functioned as a mid-day refuge for many of Seattle’s blue-collar workers. It was comprised of only the southernmost room, which was filled with nickel slot machines. Laboring men and women could break from their long days and play the slots at Beth’s while enjoying a strong cup of coffee and a bottomless plate of hashbrowns, which were originally the only forms of sustenance the diner offered. The two original owners worked literally night and day to serve their customers, one covering the 12-hour day shift and the other covering the 12-hour night shift. With their commitment and hard work, Beth’s soon became a staple and a family tradition in the lives of many of its early patrons.

“I meet people who have been coming in here since they were kids,” says current owner Chris Dalton. “Men who use to come in with their fathers, who now come in with their own sons.”

By the 1970s, Beth’s growing popularity among Seattleites caused its owners to move out the slot machines, add on two additional rooms, and begin to offer a full menu. Now the café not only served the working public, but was a budding favorite of cramming college students and drunken club-goers.

“We get what we call the ‘bar rush’ right after 2 a.m.” Dalton informs me, “Beth’s is one of the only places open 24 hours, and it’s a hell of a lot more entertaining than Denny’s.”
Beth’s has had to aesthetically adapt to the younger crowd while still honoring its roots in the working community. Take “The Peach Pit” of Beverly Hills 90210 and add in a little Lollapalooza and you can imagine the appearance of the restaurant- vintage fifties style dining soiled by youth culture. Traditional Formica tables and cushioned booths border the restaurant’s conjoined three rooms. A U-shaped bar sits in the center of the main room, enclosing the small kitchen and its single cook. The walls are covered with customer’s creations, staff photo albums, and liberally-leaning newspaper headlines - a free-for-all of artistic release fueled by caffeine and boredom. For the less artistically inclined, there is an adjoining game room which boasts a variety of pinball machines and a jukebox, perhaps as homage to the café’s early gambling function.

The patrons of Beth’s have come to be as diverse as its décor. To my right, a man who looks to be in his fifties sits and sips a glass of seltzer. He has a thick black beard and weary eyes, and the crystal clear quality of his sparkling water clashes with his sullied overalls and muddied shoes.

“Anything to eat or you doing okay?” hollers Wendy across the counter to him. He tips his glass at her to signal that he is fine, and Wendy shrugs her shoulders at the cook and rings in someone’s order.

Through the door on my left enters a green-haired, mohawk-donning punk-princess complete with nose ring, lip ring, and moped helmet. She takes a seat next to the older man at the bar and they exchange acknowledging head nods and go about their respective business, seemingly oblivious to the cultural and aesthetic boundaries which make their mutual presence here such a novelty. This is the intrinsic charm of Beth’s Café- that these two different people with different backgrounds, interests, and opinions can exist together in some sort of harmony over their respective runny eggs and gritty coffee.