“Do you
know what you want,” she asked.
“I dunno,”
he said.
She looked
him up and down as he sat in the restaurant booth. She snapped her gum against
her teeth and waited. He just stared at the menu, seemingly reading every word
intensely.
“Should I
give you another couple minutes honey,” she asked.
“Yeah,” he
said.
She walked
away from the table and back around the diner counter. She positioned herself
against the coffee station and folded her arms against her chest. It was one
o’clock in the afternoon and the place was empty except for this one customer.
There wasn’t much of a lunch rush, just a few construction workers from a few
blocks away. They just got a few sandwiches to go. $18.00 bill for which she
received $1.50 tip. She wasn’t sure how she would make rent this month if this
kind of slow down continued.
She looked
out the window and watched the wind push sickly gray clouds through the sky. It
looked like rain. She looked back to her lone customer, still staring at the
menu. He was still on the first breakfast page. He was focused on the Hammerin’
Hash picture. It was hash browns covered with an open faced egg, covered with
more hash browns, a pat of butter on the top and covered in maple syrup. It was
a crazy creation from a cook that hadn’t work at the Brown Top Restaurant for
16 years. She didn’t’ know why it was still on the menu, or why it was a
featured item. People did order it though. Well, not people, drunks ordered it
at three o’clock in the morning.
She slowly
walked back toward the lone customer at the booth.
“Is there
anything I can help you with,” she asked.
“I dunno,”
he said.
“Do you
have any questions about any items on the menu,” she asked.
She started
to wonder in her mind if this guy could read. It wasn’t all that uncommon for
someone to come in that couldn’t read and they sat there, struggling with the
menu for a long time. The guy was sweating a bit and looked pretty frustrated.
“No,” he
said.
He didn’t
look up, but he did flip the menu over to the lunch specials.
“We have a
Philly Cheese Steak sandwich as a special today that’s not on the menu,” she
said.
The man
didn’t reply. He returned to his focused reading of the menu items. She got the
hint and slowly backed away from the table while tapping her pen against her
order pad. She wondered if this guy
might be one of those nutso types; laid off from some factory job, drunk for
days, hell bent on revenge. It was always the waitresses or the support staff
of life that always seemed to catch the most hell from the nutsos.
She
returned to her spot by the coffee maker and leaned back. She realized she
never offered the guy at the both anything to drink. She didn’t notice him come
in and sit down so she never thought to get him something. She grabbed the
water pitcher and walked back toward the guy at the booth. She poured him a
glass of water.
“Can I get
you something to drink while you read over the menu,” she asked.
“I dunno,”
said the guy.
He
shrugged. For some reason that seemed to be the last straw for her and she felt
her blood start to boil. Six years of taking crap from people was raging up in
her stomach, she felt her anger in her eyes. It was an irrational anger but it
burst forth. She put the pitcher of water down on the table.
“Listen
mac, if you don’t order something in the next two minutes I’m going call the
cops and have them shoo you off for loitering,” she commanded.
She picked
up the pitcher and turned back toward the coffee station. She felt relieved to
have gotten that out. She was not a mean person by nature, but even she had her
limits of patience. It wasn’t the stabbing verbal attack she had imagined, but
she got her point across she felt.
The man in
the booth put the menu down and took a sip of water. He stood from the table
and headed toward the door.
“Hey! Where
you going,” she asked.
“I dunno,”
he said.
He turned
to the door and walked out into the graying afternoon.
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