waitress talk
me, i made money because i was so young, and had a look on me like a trembling baby calf, big eyes and all. i expect the customers felt some kind of pity, or else worse. i hadn’t learned how to do that kind of talk that the older women could do, that easy talk where they call everyone honey or darling. and the customers loved these older women - like paulette who sailed through the dining room in cha cha heels and leopard print leggings, i wish i were making this up, it’s almost embarrassing, the cliche, but she did, and every christmas people brought little presents for her which she received most graciously like a sovereign. i tried and it always seemed to come out like i meant it too much, or maybe not enough, it struck an off note like a muffled bell. hell, i would be such a great waitress now (not a server, a waitress, and yes, it’s different) because time and years and things have taught me how to grin when i see you, and how to tease, saying to the one with the scratch card, you win this time honey you better take me to vegas, and laughing, everything a little joke that we’re both in on. i just put on a pot on i’d say, you want your usual? of course i know how you like it baby, you don’t have to tell me, but go on, tell me again.