Lisa tucked a stray hair back into the bun at the nape of her neck. She scanned her section and created her mental list: 35 looks comfy; 37 looks ready for a check; 41 can rot. She exhaled and organized her cash.
Table 37 was indeed looking all around the dining room, that searching gaze that sets of the "Coming right away, sir" circuits in the server's brain. Pulling the black folder from her pocket, Lisa checked the bill once more to make sure everything looked right. She donned her server smile and headed to the table.
"How was everything?" Lisa asked, hovering a polite distance from the table.
"Great, great," the man at 37 said. "We're ready for our bill."
"Here you go," Lisa said, placing the black folder on the table. "Enjoy the rest of your stay in New York."
"Thanks!" the bubble woman at 37 said. And I hope you enjoy your audition tomorrow!"
"Thanks," Lisa said, edging away from the table. The man looked over the bill and pulled out his wallet.
"So how does that work, anyway?" the bubbly woman said. "Do you just...go in there and read something?" Lisa sighed, silently.
"Sometimes you read from what's called a side," she explained. "And sometimes they ask you to prepare a piece before you come in the room."
"What kind of piece?"
"A monologue. Something short that shows a range of character?"
"Well I think that's just great," the bubbly woman said.
"Do you get much from those auditions? Are you in something right now?" the man asked, closing the black folder.
"No," Lisa said, keeping her voice light and friendly. She wanted to scream, "Why do you think I'm working here?" Instead, she replied, "There are a lot of actors in this town, and while there are a lot of jobs, not all of them pay well."
"Well I think that's just great," the bubbly woman said again.
"We're all set," the man said, patting the bill.
"Thanks," Lisa said, picking up the bill. "Have a great afternoon." She escaped to the hutch behind the bar and opened the black folder to close the check. They'd left her a dollar. On an $80 tab. She cursed, silently.
"I'd rather they'd have just shut up and left me a decent tip," she said, stabbing the touch screen on the computer.
"Did you get stiffed?" Henry, another server, asked.
"Oh no. They left me a tip. A lovely little portrait of George Washington. On an $80 tab."
"Awesome."
Lisa sighed again and tucked the cash in her pocket. She peeked around the wall separating the dining room and bar from the back of the house and saw that 37 and 39 were both gone. She grabbed a tray and headed back out to bus 39. They had been a quiet table that didn't need much. Seemed like curmudgeonly old people at first, but really low maintenance. They didn't talk much to each other or her, but they seemed to be enjoying themselves so she'd pretty much left them alone.
Arriving at the table, she cleared the glasses, plates, silverware and rumpled napkins, placing the check in her pocket last of all. It was company policy that servers wait until they were out of sight of customers before they looked at checks.
Balancing the heavy tray on one hand and steadying it with the other, Lisa shouldered open the swinging kitchen door. Glasses went into the partitioned lugs, plates and silverware in the bus tubs, napkins in the cloth bag. She tucked the tray under her arm and pulled out 39's bill.
They didn't eat much. Their total was only $30. Three $10 bills covered their charges. But underneath the tens was a $20. And written on it, in bright pink marker and swirling script across Andrew Jackson's face, the words, "Good Luck!"
Lisa laughed; a short, exhalation of a laugh. She put the bill in her pocket, then shouldered her way back onto the floor, the door swooshing back and forth in the wake of her passage.
Labels: baby steps, made-up stuff, munny, photos
