By the time I walked in for my last training shift on a Sunday night, I was thinner, my spirit was beaten down, and I was worried about the road I seemed to be headed back down.<\/p>\n
I was also still broke. I\u2019d trained for seven shifts at $10 an hour, and I was relieved when my trainer asked me to take this shift alone. The managers were nowhere to be found, as usual, and she wanted to meet up with her boyfriend \u2014 a musician who was always cheating on her. The restaurant was slow, she told me I now knew what I was doing, and, best of all, she would let me take all of the tips I made home.<\/p>\n
At nearly 9 o\u2019clock, three women walked in: two women I\u2019d never seen before and the one and only Catherine O\u2019Hara. I froze. My mind flashed to O\u2019Hara\u2019s squiggly sideburns in \u201cBeetlejuice.\u201d Her iconic \u201cKevin!\u201d in \u201cHome Alone.\u201d The dozens and dozens of times my sister and I had watched \u201cBest in Show.\u201d All of the characters she\u2019d played that shaped my sense of humor. My sense of joy. How could I possibly serve her without telling her I loved her?<\/p>\n
They sat in a window booth with Catherine in the center. When I went to greet her party, her friends enthusiastically interrupted to tell me they were taking her out for her birthday. She shook her head sheepishly, embarrassed and amused.<\/p>\n
\u201cWe\u2019ve been friends forever,\u201d she told me. \u201cThey don\u2019t let me get away with anything.\u201d<\/p>\n
As a writer, I try to avoid cliches, but reader, her eyes truly sparkled with life and kindness.<\/p>\n
Soon, they were my only table. I folded napkins a short distance away from them and watched the three friends enjoy each other\u2019s company \u2014 and one of everything from the starter section, plus a burger, the tuna and the chicken. They shared a bottle of wine and giggled like girls.<\/p>\n
Over the course of their meal, I realized that in just a few weeks, the restaurant I stood in had distorted what success should look like, but no one could extinguish the aura of true success that radiated off Catherine. She had \u201cit\u201d \u2014 that thing I\u2019d come to NYC to prove I had, too, and \u201cit\u201d wasn\u2019t thinness or ambition at all costs, or even talent, though of course she had that, too. It was her sense of self \u2014 how she held herself and confidently, yet humbly, moved through the world \u2014 that no one could rival… or take away from her.\u00a0<\/p>\n
By the time I dropped the chocolate souffl\u00e9 off, their table held the last lit candle in the restaurant.\u00a0<\/p>\n
I placed the dessert in front of Catherine, and then I took a breath.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m not supposed to bother our famous diners,\u201d I said, \u201cbut I just have to tell you how much your acting means to me and my sister. \u2018Best in Show\u2019 is our favorite movie, and your character is my favorite.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMe?\u201d she said, genuinely incredulous. \u201cYour favorite!\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m sorry to bother you. I just had to say something. Happy birthday.\u201d I quickly turned away, mortified.<\/p>\n
\u201cWait,\u201d she called after me, \u201cWhat\u2019s your name? What\u2019s your story?\u201d<\/p>\n
She insisted that I join them in their booth and asked what kind of artist I was.<\/p>\n
\u201cEvery server in this city has an interesting story,\u201d she said, gesturing her spoon toward me, her mouth full of birthday souffl\u00e9, and the trio\u2019s attention now fully, yet comfortably, on me.<\/p>\n
I told her all about my dream to be an author and about the short story I was working on.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat if one of the characters dies?\u201d she riffed, delighted.<\/p>\n
Were we collaborating? I could hardly breathe.<\/p>\n
I was glad to have refused their offer of a bite of souffl\u00e9 because the manager suddenly appeared from his basement lair, and I immediately popped out of the booth.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019ll just grab you the check,\u201d I said, with my arms behind my back again, in an attempt to look professional. She winked at me as I walked away.<\/p>\n
She paid the bill herself, though her friends tried, and though my tip out didn\u2019t reflect it, she left me 100% on their $400 bill and a note that read, \u201cI know your day will come. Keep writing.\u201d<\/p>\n
The manager wouldn\u2019t let me keep the receipt, but I didn\u2019t need it.<\/p>\n
Catherine had given me something invaluable that night. Her kindness has always stayed with me. She showed me a different way to be an artist \u2014 to be a person. She chose passion, curiosity, individuality and humility in an industry that often made that feel impossible.<\/p>\n
I never went back to the restaurant again after that night. I left before the thinness of the place convinced me I had to disappear to deserve a future. There were plenty of other workplace cultures ahead of me that would also try to normalize self-erasure as ambition, but years later, when I sat down to write this essay just days after Catherine O\u2019Hara\u2019s death, I could still clearly conjure that moment with her. Thanks to her, I still try to follow my appetite, to seek fullness and to believe, even on my hungriest days, that my day will come.<\/p>\n
Sammi LaBue<\/a>\u00a0is the founder of\u00a0Fledgling Writing Workshops\u00a0<\/a>(\u201cBest Writing Workshops,\u201d Timeout NY) and basically obsessed with the feeling of having an idea and writing it down.\u00a0Her latest project is a recently finished memoir written in collaboration with her mom titled \u201cBad Apples.\u201d\u00a0Some of her other essays can be found in BuzzFeed, Slate, Literary Hub, The Sun, Glamour and more.\u00a0To follow her writing journey and find opportunities to write with her flow, visit fledgling.substack.com<\/a>.<\/p>\n This article originally appeared on HuffPost<\/a> in February 2026.<\/p>\n