Coming Right Up // Stephanie Divis

Sure thing, I say.
Let me get these plates cleared,
and I’ll grab your check.
“No, we don’t want our plates cleared.
We want our check, now.
We’ve got a bridge game waiting.”
You bettcha, coming right up, I say.

As I rush through the restaurant,
the mingling smells of food
nauseate me and so
do those old biddies,
who I’m sure will only
leave me the “token” dollar tip
that is so popular with their age group.

The hostess dashes by and tells me
I just got another table.  Damn.
This is turning into a shit show.

It's Not all Black and White by Rae Clinkenbeard
It’s Not all Black and White
Rae Clinkenbeard // Photography

On my way to drop off biddies’ check
table twelve says, Um, hey,
can we get some extra ranch?”
Sure thing, I say.  Coming right up.
Let me drop off this check
and I’ll be right back.
I tell the biddies thank you
and apologize for the wait.
They cut me off mid-sentence.

Shake it off.  Next table.
Hi my name’s Jane, I say with a smile in my voice.
Welcome to Sam’s Bar and Grill.
Can I start you off with something to drink,
something from the bar, an appetizer?
Okey dokey then, four waters, one no lemon, one light ice,
coming right up.

OMG, another water only table
as I smile sweetly and say
I’ll be right back with those.
“We’re ready to order now too.
We’re kind of in a hurry.
We’ve got a movie time to make.”
And, of course, they all special order.
No cheese.  Extra sauce.  Lightly seasoned.
You bettcha.  The kitchen’s going to love this.

As I’m walking, quickly,
with my eyes diverted down, and my mind
on table twelve’s extra ranch,
I hear a whiny, “Excuse me, miss.
Our server, Trent, seems to have disappeared.
Can you check on our order?
We’ve been waiting half an hour.”
Sure thing, let me grab my table’s drinks
and I’ll be glad to.  Not glad, I want to scream

Well, this is definitely a shit show, again.
Trent’s probably in the bathroom vaping, again.
And it looks like the kitchen is crashing, again.
Half hour ticket times.  Seriously?

“Where the hell is table twenty-four’s food?”
I hiss at the cooks.  They look at me with
that stupid-ass duh look.  “Um, the food, um,
kinda got overcooked.  We’re working on it.”

Well, that’s Trent’s problem.
I inch open the men’s room door and whisper hiss,
“Trent?”  No answer.  A customer approaches
and gives me a “what the …?” look.

As I turn with the tray of waters, the extra ranch,
and a forced smile on my face, I see the side exit
and mutter, “Yep.  What the … I’m out.”
But, no, I continue on.
The thought of the hundred dollar tennis shoes
my teen wants for his birthday niggles at my brain,
so it’s back to the coming right ups, the sure things,
the glad tos, the okey dokies, and the you bettchas.


Author:

Stephanie Divis

Since 2006, I have been a writing consultant at Morningside, but these pieces would not have been birthed without Steve Coyne and my peers in Creative Writing Fall 2019.

Artist:

Rae Clinkenbeard is a senior double major in Arts Administration and Photography with a minor in Advertising. She enjoys photographing nature and her goal is to have her own photography business.