is sam waiting for an endgame or did he fall asleep in a play?

I read Truth and Beauty by Ann Patchett recently.  It’s about her friendship with another writer Lucy Grealy, which eventually ends with Patchett winning the PEN/Faulkner for Bel Canto, and Grealy overdosing on heroin.  Of course that was all very poignant, but what I was most struck by was the fact that Ann worked at TGI Fridays even after the publication of her first novel.  What must they have thought, this writer in their midst,  dreaming up characters and serving onion rings night after night after night.  Did anyone suspect that she would become something like that?  Some people suspect genius early on, few nurture this suspicion, most are eventually disappointed, although probably not so much so as the object of their affection.  But some never stop believing and are still espousing some unrecognized talent long after the audience has gone home, and the lights have gone up in the theater,

                                            and the lights have gone up in the theater,

and the light have gone up in the theater. 

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