“I do believe it’s briefly considering how much of it’s life it has wasted, before it drowns in an acrid concoction of tomatoey death sir.”
“Oh. I ordered onion.”
Jacob
He wore a tuxedo and called them “Ma’am” and “Sir”, and appeared seemingly out of nowhere just before they realized they needed to ask for him. They were never for lack of water or wine or even conversation with him.
when the waiter came back
and said she couldnt make it
i knew that from this day on
she wouldnt matter to me anymore
from this day on
i’m finished
and it’s not that i didn’t try
because i try so hard
she just never really made an effort
The waiter asked if I would like to order. “No,” I said, “someone will be here shortly.” His smile was sympathetic, which I ignored. And so I looked out the window at the park and imagined what we would do when he arrived, our conversation, how he would hold his water goblet, and what he would say about my new glasses.
When they informed me the restaurant was about to close, I delicately took money from my purse to give to the waiter and prepared to make my exit. He gave it back to me. “Your glasses suit your face. The red is very bold.” In blushing apology (and what had I to apologize for?), I left, and now I imagine conversations with this waiter, and how he would hold the door for me everywhere we went.
The waiter approached me with a grimace.
It was him, the guy from my global politics class.
My heart began to race fiercely in my chest. This would happen to me, I thought.
“Um…hey. I’ll have a small coffee?” My voice shook with nervousness.
And as he turned to walk away, his shirt defining the muscles in his well toned arms, the truth trickled over me…
I liked him, infinitely more than he liked me.
Laura Maddox
The waiter approached me with a grimace.
It was him, the guy from my global politics class.
My heart began to race fiercely in my chest. This would happen to me, I thought.
“Um…hey. I’ll have a small coffee?” My voice shook with nervousness.
And as he turned to walk away, his shirt defining the muscles in his well toned arms, the truth trickled over me…
I liked him, infinitely more than he liked me.
Laura Maddox
a waiter taking order from all the customers. moving busily with a cheerful face to every tables and collecting the order
sanchu
The waiter is waiting for me to injest the meal his god has given me so that i may return onto him fruits from my wallet. My empty pockets speak lies that highlight how much trouble I’ll be in when he find out that I have taken it all but have nothing to give.
Harris A-T
“Where the hell is the waiter”, I coughed, sparking up another cigarette and meeting the disapproving glance of the wife next to me, holding her two children closer to avoid the fumes. Fuck you, I thought to myself, your kids are going to learn what death is anyway, and they might as well see that you have a choice.
Deadlox
waiter, bring me some water, no ice, no straw. he turned and watched him walk away. he wondered how long it would take.
shane patrick
There was the waiter this one time. My fiancee, mom, and myself were out to eat lunch. As we were eating, my fiancee the artist started to bring forth creations on the white paper tablecoth. She brought out lighthouses and roses and other things of artistic
Wes Kinsey
I don’t know what to say to him when he drops off the check and looks at me expectantly. I don’t have the money to pay and I don’t have the slikness of tongue to make him go away. I would run, but my feet won’t let me.
Sitting there. Waiting for the light to change from red to green. Watching the traffic. Listening to the crackle of static on the local news station. Gripping the steering wheel and trying to stay awake.
Somebody who you will always look past, somebody who always seems lesser to you but remains basically in charge of your destiny for a small and realistically insignificant amount of time.
tom
my friend was a waiter at the red robin. i never wanted to be a writer seems to crazy. it looks like hard work.
Daniel Selway
The waiter refilled their water glasses. The clock on the wall ticked furiously. Three children in the corner stood in large clay pots with only their heads exposed. A giant chicken danced the Can-Can across the stage with a blow up doll. Boy, I really don’t get Beckett.
the waiter chose to ignore me. I guess I need to be a bit more forceful with my desire to order, but funny, I thought lunch was supposed to be fun not forceful. I don’t want to have to fight for lunch.
Waiter there’s a fly in my soup and I didn’t even order soup. I wonder if I would feel any better if there was a fly in my croque monsieur – probably not, as I didn’t order that either
i know them. lots of them. they go to work at 4:00pm. they leave work at 12:30am. they make $2.13 per hour, and trust on the faces they see each night to make up the difference. a lot of times, those faces don’t. or won’t. bastards.
They should employ people here only if they can speak the lingo. I asked the waiter for more ice and he brought me a big plate of rice. Boiled rice too; I mean, aren’t they supposed to remember faces and orders? I asked for fried rice the first time round.
The waiter sighed, and ignored the man. It seemed his life was full of ‘waiter waiter’ jokes these days. It was hard enough at home, with his father, the professional clown, red nose and long shoes. Knock knock, waiter waiter, chickens crossing roads…. his father’s repertoire was scarred into his brain.
“Waiter waiter, I’ve got a dirty spoon…”
He grit his teeth and carried on. It didn’t get any better.
“Waiter, what is this fly doing in my soup?”
“I do believe it’s briefly considering how much of it’s life it has wasted, before it drowns in an acrid concoction of tomatoey death sir.”
“Oh. I ordered onion.”
He wore a tuxedo and called them “Ma’am” and “Sir”, and appeared seemingly out of nowhere just before they realized they needed to ask for him. They were never for lack of water or wine or even conversation with him.
when the waiter came back
and said she couldnt make it
i knew that from this day on
she wouldnt matter to me anymore
from this day on
i’m finished
and it’s not that i didn’t try
because i try so hard
she just never really made an effort
The waiter asked if I would like to order. “No,” I said, “someone will be here shortly.” His smile was sympathetic, which I ignored. And so I looked out the window at the park and imagined what we would do when he arrived, our conversation, how he would hold his water goblet, and what he would say about my new glasses.
When they informed me the restaurant was about to close, I delicately took money from my purse to give to the waiter and prepared to make my exit. He gave it back to me. “Your glasses suit your face. The red is very bold.” In blushing apology (and what had I to apologize for?), I left, and now I imagine conversations with this waiter, and how he would hold the door for me everywhere we went.
guapos angelico opposites yet the same. both use woman as objects but use different means to achieve that end
guapos angelico opposites yet the same. both use woman as objects but use different means to achieve that end
doesn’t make the food but he does deliver it. ya can’t shoot the messenger! :)
The waiter approached me with a grimace.
It was him, the guy from my global politics class.
My heart began to race fiercely in my chest. This would happen to me, I thought.
“Um…hey. I’ll have a small coffee?” My voice shook with nervousness.
And as he turned to walk away, his shirt defining the muscles in his well toned arms, the truth trickled over me…
I liked him, infinitely more than he liked me.
The waiter approached me with a grimace.
It was him, the guy from my global politics class.
My heart began to race fiercely in my chest. This would happen to me, I thought.
“Um…hey. I’ll have a small coffee?” My voice shook with nervousness.
And as he turned to walk away, his shirt defining the muscles in his well toned arms, the truth trickled over me…
I liked him, infinitely more than he liked me.
a waiter taking order from all the customers. moving busily with a cheerful face to every tables and collecting the order
The waiter is waiting for me to injest the meal his god has given me so that i may return onto him fruits from my wallet. My empty pockets speak lies that highlight how much trouble I’ll be in when he find out that I have taken it all but have nothing to give.
“Where the hell is the waiter”, I coughed, sparking up another cigarette and meeting the disapproving glance of the wife next to me, holding her two children closer to avoid the fumes. Fuck you, I thought to myself, your kids are going to learn what death is anyway, and they might as well see that you have a choice.
waiter, bring me some water, no ice, no straw. he turned and watched him walk away. he wondered how long it would take.
There was the waiter this one time. My fiancee, mom, and myself were out to eat lunch. As we were eating, my fiancee the artist started to bring forth creations on the white paper tablecoth. She brought out lighthouses and roses and other things of artistic
I don’t know what to say to him when he drops off the check and looks at me expectantly. I don’t have the money to pay and I don’t have the slikness of tongue to make him go away. I would run, but my feet won’t let me.
Sitting there. Waiting for the light to change from red to green. Watching the traffic. Listening to the crackle of static on the local news station. Gripping the steering wheel and trying to stay awake.
Somebody who you will always look past, somebody who always seems lesser to you but remains basically in charge of your destiny for a small and realistically insignificant amount of time.
my friend was a waiter at the red robin. i never wanted to be a writer seems to crazy. it looks like hard work.
The waiter refilled their water glasses. The clock on the wall ticked furiously. Three children in the corner stood in large clay pots with only their heads exposed. A giant chicken danced the Can-Can across the stage with a blow up doll. Boy, I really don’t get Beckett.
the waiter chose to ignore me. I guess I need to be a bit more forceful with my desire to order, but funny, I thought lunch was supposed to be fun not forceful. I don’t want to have to fight for lunch.
Waiter there’s a fly in my soup and I didn’t even order soup. I wonder if I would feel any better if there was a fly in my croque monsieur – probably not, as I didn’t order that either
i know them. lots of them. they go to work at 4:00pm. they leave work at 12:30am. they make $2.13 per hour, and trust on the faces they see each night to make up the difference. a lot of times, those faces don’t. or won’t. bastards.
They should employ people here only if they can speak the lingo. I asked the waiter for more ice and he brought me a big plate of rice. Boiled rice too; I mean, aren’t they supposed to remember faces and orders? I asked for fried rice the first time round.
“Waiter.” he said. “There’s a fly in my soup.”
The waiter sighed, and ignored the man. It seemed his life was full of ‘waiter waiter’ jokes these days. It was hard enough at home, with his father, the professional clown, red nose and long shoes. Knock knock, waiter waiter, chickens crossing roads…. his father’s repertoire was scarred into his brain.
“Waiter waiter, I’ve got a dirty spoon…”
He grit his teeth and carried on. It didn’t get any better.
Basically, I would describe myself as a waiter. I keep waiting. For these question marks to vanish. For friends and friendships. For love.