Waiting
The True Confessions of a Waitress
Chapter One
The Luncheonette
It's a very slow Friday night. I've had precious few tables and the evening promises to be a bit of a wash. I check my watch for the tenth time. Only eight-thirty. Although the night drags interminably, I know better than to ask my manager to let me go home.
"You don't know," he'll say, "it could get busy. This is Friday night."
I know it won't get busy. The rush is over. Tomorrow he'll be complaining about skyrocketing labor costs. I fold napkins and wait. The hostess finally saunters over to one of my tables with another deuce. I've had nothing but couples sharing soup and salad tonight. My check average is going through the floor. When I cash out, my manager will complain about this too.
I approach the table and sense trouble immediately. Right off the bat, the drink order is problematic.
"I'll have the cabernet," she says.
"No, you don't want that," he says.
"Yes," she repeats firmly, "I do."
"You want the Chianti," he says, "it's very good here."
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