In the middle of taking your order your waitress will drop her pad and pen on the table then she’ll scream, “Fuck no.”
“Fuck yes,” the waiter by the door will scream back.
The waitress will take three steps to her left, trying to put some tables between her and the waiter by the door.
“Thought you were dead,” the waitress will say.
“Faked it,” the waiter will say back. “Bills.”
The waitress will untie the apron from her waist. The waiter will kick off both his shoes.
“You been true?” the waiter will ask.
“Truth’s subjective,” the waitress will answer, tugging her stockings down from under her skirt.
“I ain’t had nobody else but you,” he’ll say, tearing his tuxedo shirt off his body. “Since my last shift here, when we did it in the walk-in, I might as well have not even existed sexually. That’s truth.”
“Then I been a little false,” the waitress will say, down to her bra and skirt now, panties already down and still wrapped around one ankle. “But it was in mourning. I let Pat pump you outta me a little.”
The waiter will nod in the busboy’s direction. “I thank you for taking care of my girl, Pat,” the waiter will say, fully-nude now. “But she’s off-limits again.”
Pat will put down his tray of glasses and hold up his hands, waving them palms out, as if to say, “Yup, hands off.”
Your waitress will apologize to you for the wait for your drink order, but she has to make love briefly.
“It’ll just be ten minutes,” she’ll say, fully naked, not even looking at you. Not looking anywhere but at the naked waiter by the door.
No one breathes while the waitress and the waiter size up each other’s naked bodies like two feral cats waiting to let loose with the hair-trigger pounce. The people sitting at the tables between them get up and move to the walls.
They leap through the air and land on the four-top in the middle of the room sending water glasses and silverware crashing to the floor. It’s like they didn’t even have to move, like the universe suddenly contracted and eliminated the space separating their genitals. They embrace each other, race in and out of each other, consume each other in a wild hurry. Your waitress is taken and your waitress takes.
When they are finished, they fall asleep in each other’s arms, stretched out on the tables in the middle of the room. The hostess tiptoes around the room and in a whisper encourages you and the other diners to go to the kitchen and tell the chefs what you’d like to eat, but please do it quietly so as not to disturb Danny and Betty. They need their rest.
Happy The Waitress’s Waiter Day!