Captain Morgan. Captain America. Captain Kirk. This is where they all dine, Sunday through Saturday, from 7 a.m. until 2 p.m., when the fires under the grease-stained grills extinguish, the last drips of coal black coffee evaporate, and the electric blue and red lights of the “Open” sign disappear.
“The Captain’s Room” in Geneva, N.Y. bustles from the creaks of the front door to the subtle buzzing of the heat lamps at its rear at 12:10 p.m. Friday afternoon. Four men, slack in their chairs but lively in their voices, engage in a tongue-rolling conversation over empty and stained glasses at the next table. Their quick conversation would be difficult to understand even if they weren’t huddled together like a football team. Spanish can be tricky.
“Ya ya,” shouts a baby from across the diner, as if she was responding to the waitress’s delicate question—“More coffee?” The waitress laughs in response to the baby’s babbles, causing her caramel-colored curls to spring forward.
With a motherly gaze, she bends down to talk to the baby face-to-face, waitress to customer, woman to woman. The gentle hand of the baby girl graces the server’s cheek, eager to touch a face that isn’t her own.
An abrupt ding of the kitchen bell sounds, and the waitress snaps back into motion, like the gears of a clock that has been switched on for the first time. She swivels around and heads toward the wafts of steam emerging from the freshly plated eggs and toast the cook had just plopped down. Two plates per hand, she charges to the nearest table. And as soon as she sets them down, she hustles over to the register, rapidly pressing its fingerprint-stained buttons.
As customers dwindle away from the warm atmosphere, the waitress remains. She pulls out boxes from below the counter. Like the bottomless bag belonging to a magical wizard, the boxes continue to appear, one after the other. The packages overflow jellies, sugars, and creamers onto the black-speckled counters.
Floating from table to table, she stuffs napkins into rigid metal holders. She pushes the red upholstered chairs back into their respective places. She wipes down the tables in attempts to make them as spotless as they had been at opening.
She looks relieved for the work day to be nearly over at 1:55 p.m., yet saddened that she would no longer be surrounded by others. The captains would keep her company still—portraits of Skipper from “Gilligan’s Island” and members of “Captain and Tennille” cling to the walls. Melted into the plaster, a mural of Captain Hook, Captain Falcon, and Captain Caveman also keep her from complete solitude.
This café is not only a place where waitresses and captains meet daily, but friends and family, adults and children, strangers and first dates, who engross in the aged tradition of sharing moments and meals. 
