How do I get a new word oh my god don’t want to write about a waitress anymore please this is the longest 60 seconds of my life it didn’t go well the first time give me a new word please I don’t want to enter my name and email stooopp
nunya
waitress wait for me
watching while witnessing awkward
increulity
sometimes we laugh
at now and then
when the little things get by
and how the order was changed
in the mind
like a fool in the wind
a pawn in the game
a heart on the mend
a wish made astray
put out in the ashtray
we prayed
matt m.
She tripped
She was tipped.
So much for her gender,
and the means to earn her living.
Sam
The waitress ground out her stubby cigarette butt on the sidewalk and breathed out her last breath of smoke, wreathing my face. “And that’s what I have to say about that,” she said, her voice gravelly with the evidence of past cigarettes, her eyes the bruised smudges of the sky before dawn
lbrygk
The scent of Japanese cherry blossoms filled the diner booth as she walked by. That was it, I had once loved this woman. But that was impossible, how could I have met her before? I had never been to this city. I have never been to this state for a matter of fact. But something about the movement of her hips and the lightness in her eyes told me I had loved her.
It’s a tough job, being a waitress. Especially today when everyone changes the items on the
menues. You know, I’ll have the fish, no sauce, and the asparagus, no potatoes. Everyone tries to change everything.
Robin
There was this waitress I met one day named June Bug. She told me the greatest stories while serving me. One time she suggested I get the eggs Benedict with a coffee “to clear out the ole’ poop shoot” She really was splendid. It saddens me to say she isn’t around anymore. I spent the entire day saddened because I woke up to read this word and it brought me back to the moment I first laid eyes on Miss June Bug. She meant the world to me. Words are powerful things. Don’t be ignorant. Be like Miss June Bug and brighten someones day. Use your words for kindness. Love one another… like the waitress.
The waitress didn’t like anyone who came to the cafe. They were loud and ungrateful and took without saying thanks like all the other men in her life. Her husband looked at her like her
Beth Henderson
She stared over to the other side of the cafe at her. Tapping her feet impatiently, she waiting with baited breath for the old man’s order. He was taking his time, as she has introduced herself with a sense of confidence that he found most off-putting. Clara was in this for the short-term, though her dreams of being an academic in her specific field of clinical biology was fading. The costs were too high, and the expectations too low. She felt a lowered
Laura
She stared over to the other side of the cafe at her. Tapping her feet impatiently, she waiting with baited breath for the old man’s order. He was taking his time, as she has introduced herself with a sense of confiedence that he found most off-putting. Clara was in this
Laura
She tightened her apron and brushed the tears from her face. There was too much to do. Now was not the time to hide in the supply closet. She opened the door slowly.
She walked over with the pancakes. MY pancakes. NEVER cede ownership. Why would you cede ownership of beautiful blueberry pancakes? She wore a blue nametag. I remember because the blue thing had her name on it. It complemented the pancakes. MY pancakes. NEVER cede ownership.
Jerden
She shuffles between the tables holding a tray of clanking glasses. She slides in the small spaces between like beams of light slipping under a door. She holds her breath and tightens up her stomach to try to make herself smaller, to fit, between those lives, seated and flailing and shouting about themselves. She brings and they take. They grow and become fat. They become drunk and larger and expand like balloons until they push on the walls of the restaurant and the doors creak to hold them. And still, she finds space, where life is not, to pull more plates out, to shuttle mojitos, smuggle bottles of beer. When the expanding people have burst out the doors and windows and spill out into the night, she sits on a box of napkins, and fills her lungs like balloons from the end of a cigarette
my job, my undesired yet desired job.Does it define me as a person or does it define me for others?
Sandra
I was at that table, my hand around the cup, when my life changed in a second. It was her.
andrea
“hey waitress, hurry up! I ain’t got all day!” Another angry customer. I’d better hurry over. This is the only way I can make a living, so I’ll be in big trouble if I’m fired.
Padme Amidala
She was tired, always on her feet, always moving. This person’s food had too much salt. This person thought it would be funny to leave their tip in an upside down glass of water. This person ordered a burger not spaghetti even though she had read the order back to them. Well this waitress is tired of the bullshit.
Coffee hair rolled back from her face, tucked under a cream cap, both precarious but for a few candy-coated bobby-pins — it’s early, just time for eyeliner and bright red lipstick — her gray dress and white apron still crisp, her arms still silky and toned, her days lie ahead of her like an open road, no end to the sunsets — she smiles, raises a steaming pot, “Coffee?”
Hope
Yes! Help you to help me, serve the waitress by eating out of her hand and not lying with your head in the sand, I reckon that you can understand.
Robert Kohlhammer
The waitress eyed the pale stranger in the corner, as she prepped the coffee pot for another round. There was something about him that didn’t feel right. Her stomach uneasy, her heart pounding, she decided to approach him. Her eyes widened, as she noticed what looked like fresh blood on his sleeves and his chin.
cat
The waitress bit her tonge so not to say something to the customer that dumped coffee on her because he did not like her service.
Glenda
i don’t feel like writing about this really, but anyway, for the past few days I’ve pretty much felt like a waitress. I work with a bunch of men who forget this is the 21st century and I’m not here to write down what they say then go do it. But there I sit, taking notes, making decisions, getting the job done; doing things they’d never do, until they find out it’s worth doing, then swoop in to take the credit. Now I could see if I were 24 years old again, thinking that maybe things will bet better and that you don’t usually run into men like this, and the business world has changed and I’m just taking notes (and orders) this one time because I need my career to get going, to start getting somewhere. But I’m not. I’ve been doing this for years, doing well at it for years, and WTF, they still let you do the grunt work if you’ll do it, still take the credit for it, still ignore you if you’re in the room and over 40, still assholes. But at this age, I should’ve figured that out. So who’s the asshole?
sher
She was a beautiful waitress, with a beaming smile. She could easily hide the fire inside.
a servant or a slave! i love thinking of brothers like slaves, sooo easy to control. Especially when they are rude.
solara
I saw there was a waitress coming to our table. “FINALLY!’ i thought, because we hadn’t even ordered our food yet and it had been half an hour or more. so she came up and said “We are running a little late, and we wanted to let you know that it would be a little while before we can take your order.”
she walked onto my table with her long dark hair, while i was drinking my black coffee.
-Here’s your tip, honey. i said
-Thank you, sir. she said to me and she smiled. Oh, that damned smile made me think about her years and years.
Duminica Stefan
When I go out to eat we mostly get woman waiters but rarely do we get men as our waiters.
Isaiah Varella
The tables line the windows, droplets of rain streaming down the pane. She sits alone at one of them, a tiny glass mug steaming before her. Not enough, she mumbles to herself as she examines her paycheck.
hi
Being a waitress requires people skills, durable legs and feet, and adept coordination.
Kaci Miller
The waitress turned, and came back to the table. “This is YOUR tip”, she said, throwing a penny down on the dirty plate.
tony
the waitress came up and said what can i get you gentlemen. They said maybe some nice glasses of water. She went to the back and got water for them but when she got their they were gone. Were did the men go and why did they leave?
Mikkala
my mother used to a waitress she needed a job to feed herself and it was the only one she could get.
gage
Finish your burger, drink your beer, and don’t forget to tip your waitress. She’ll spend it on soem groceries so she can make ham sandwiches for lunch for the next two weeks. And then she’ll smell like mustard and relish, and she’ll have to douse herself in deodorant and perfume, just so fat f***s like you enjoy her company and her service as she works in this filthy, garage-like hellhole where the ale is cheap and room temperature and the food’s got a mind of its own.
Belinda Roddie
when you have to wait for something at like a bank
emonie
As the waitress walked into the dining area, she could see that the night would be slow. She flattened her plaid dress and started cleaning the tables. Why did she want to go to art School?
Sara Heil
She was elegant and beautiful. Every step she took toward the table reminded me of a princess. I envied her majesty and beautiful blonde hair. How could someone so simple also be so complex? My mind was askew.
Joseph L
She wore words on her sleeves, on her mind was the menu of the best choices on offer to convert the food into energy. It had become essential to serve and be.
How do I get a new word oh my god don’t want to write about a waitress anymore please this is the longest 60 seconds of my life it didn’t go well the first time give me a new word please I don’t want to enter my name and email stooopp
waitress wait for me
watching while witnessing awkward
increulity
sometimes we laugh
at now and then
when the little things get by
and how the order was changed
in the mind
like a fool in the wind
a pawn in the game
a heart on the mend
a wish made astray
put out in the ashtray
we prayed
She tripped
She was tipped.
So much for her gender,
and the means to earn her living.
The waitress ground out her stubby cigarette butt on the sidewalk and breathed out her last breath of smoke, wreathing my face. “And that’s what I have to say about that,” she said, her voice gravelly with the evidence of past cigarettes, her eyes the bruised smudges of the sky before dawn
The scent of Japanese cherry blossoms filled the diner booth as she walked by. That was it, I had once loved this woman. But that was impossible, how could I have met her before? I had never been to this city. I have never been to this state for a matter of fact. But something about the movement of her hips and the lightness in her eyes told me I had loved her.
It’s a tough job, being a waitress. Especially today when everyone changes the items on the
menues. You know, I’ll have the fish, no sauce, and the asparagus, no potatoes. Everyone tries to change everything.
There was this waitress I met one day named June Bug. She told me the greatest stories while serving me. One time she suggested I get the eggs Benedict with a coffee “to clear out the ole’ poop shoot” She really was splendid. It saddens me to say she isn’t around anymore. I spent the entire day saddened because I woke up to read this word and it brought me back to the moment I first laid eyes on Miss June Bug. She meant the world to me. Words are powerful things. Don’t be ignorant. Be like Miss June Bug and brighten someones day. Use your words for kindness. Love one another… like the waitress.
The waitress didn’t like anyone who came to the cafe. They were loud and ungrateful and took without saying thanks like all the other men in her life. Her husband looked at her like her
She stared over to the other side of the cafe at her. Tapping her feet impatiently, she waiting with baited breath for the old man’s order. He was taking his time, as she has introduced herself with a sense of confidence that he found most off-putting. Clara was in this for the short-term, though her dreams of being an academic in her specific field of clinical biology was fading. The costs were too high, and the expectations too low. She felt a lowered
She stared over to the other side of the cafe at her. Tapping her feet impatiently, she waiting with baited breath for the old man’s order. He was taking his time, as she has introduced herself with a sense of confiedence that he found most off-putting. Clara was in this
She tightened her apron and brushed the tears from her face. There was too much to do. Now was not the time to hide in the supply closet. She opened the door slowly.
She walked over with the pancakes. MY pancakes. NEVER cede ownership. Why would you cede ownership of beautiful blueberry pancakes? She wore a blue nametag. I remember because the blue thing had her name on it. It complemented the pancakes. MY pancakes. NEVER cede ownership.
She shuffles between the tables holding a tray of clanking glasses. She slides in the small spaces between like beams of light slipping under a door. She holds her breath and tightens up her stomach to try to make herself smaller, to fit, between those lives, seated and flailing and shouting about themselves. She brings and they take. They grow and become fat. They become drunk and larger and expand like balloons until they push on the walls of the restaurant and the doors creak to hold them. And still, she finds space, where life is not, to pull more plates out, to shuttle mojitos, smuggle bottles of beer. When the expanding people have burst out the doors and windows and spill out into the night, she sits on a box of napkins, and fills her lungs like balloons from the end of a cigarette
my job, my undesired yet desired job.Does it define me as a person or does it define me for others?
I was at that table, my hand around the cup, when my life changed in a second. It was her.
“hey waitress, hurry up! I ain’t got all day!” Another angry customer. I’d better hurry over. This is the only way I can make a living, so I’ll be in big trouble if I’m fired.
She was tired, always on her feet, always moving. This person’s food had too much salt. This person thought it would be funny to leave their tip in an upside down glass of water. This person ordered a burger not spaghetti even though she had read the order back to them. Well this waitress is tired of the bullshit.
Coffee hair rolled back from her face, tucked under a cream cap, both precarious but for a few candy-coated bobby-pins — it’s early, just time for eyeliner and bright red lipstick — her gray dress and white apron still crisp, her arms still silky and toned, her days lie ahead of her like an open road, no end to the sunsets — she smiles, raises a steaming pot, “Coffee?”
Yes! Help you to help me, serve the waitress by eating out of her hand and not lying with your head in the sand, I reckon that you can understand.
The waitress eyed the pale stranger in the corner, as she prepped the coffee pot for another round. There was something about him that didn’t feel right. Her stomach uneasy, her heart pounding, she decided to approach him. Her eyes widened, as she noticed what looked like fresh blood on his sleeves and his chin.
The waitress bit her tonge so not to say something to the customer that dumped coffee on her because he did not like her service.
i don’t feel like writing about this really, but anyway, for the past few days I’ve pretty much felt like a waitress. I work with a bunch of men who forget this is the 21st century and I’m not here to write down what they say then go do it. But there I sit, taking notes, making decisions, getting the job done; doing things they’d never do, until they find out it’s worth doing, then swoop in to take the credit. Now I could see if I were 24 years old again, thinking that maybe things will bet better and that you don’t usually run into men like this, and the business world has changed and I’m just taking notes (and orders) this one time because I need my career to get going, to start getting somewhere. But I’m not. I’ve been doing this for years, doing well at it for years, and WTF, they still let you do the grunt work if you’ll do it, still take the credit for it, still ignore you if you’re in the room and over 40, still assholes. But at this age, I should’ve figured that out. So who’s the asshole?
She was a beautiful waitress, with a beaming smile. She could easily hide the fire inside.
a servant or a slave! i love thinking of brothers like slaves, sooo easy to control. Especially when they are rude.
I saw there was a waitress coming to our table. “FINALLY!’ i thought, because we hadn’t even ordered our food yet and it had been half an hour or more. so she came up and said “We are running a little late, and we wanted to let you know that it would be a little while before we can take your order.”
she walked onto my table with her long dark hair, while i was drinking my black coffee.
-Here’s your tip, honey. i said
-Thank you, sir. she said to me and she smiled. Oh, that damned smile made me think about her years and years.
When I go out to eat we mostly get woman waiters but rarely do we get men as our waiters.
The tables line the windows, droplets of rain streaming down the pane. She sits alone at one of them, a tiny glass mug steaming before her. Not enough, she mumbles to herself as she examines her paycheck.
Being a waitress requires people skills, durable legs and feet, and adept coordination.
The waitress turned, and came back to the table. “This is YOUR tip”, she said, throwing a penny down on the dirty plate.
the waitress came up and said what can i get you gentlemen. They said maybe some nice glasses of water. She went to the back and got water for them but when she got their they were gone. Were did the men go and why did they leave?
my mother used to a waitress she needed a job to feed herself and it was the only one she could get.
Finish your burger, drink your beer, and don’t forget to tip your waitress. She’ll spend it on soem groceries so she can make ham sandwiches for lunch for the next two weeks. And then she’ll smell like mustard and relish, and she’ll have to douse herself in deodorant and perfume, just so fat f***s like you enjoy her company and her service as she works in this filthy, garage-like hellhole where the ale is cheap and room temperature and the food’s got a mind of its own.
when you have to wait for something at like a bank
As the waitress walked into the dining area, she could see that the night would be slow. She flattened her plaid dress and started cleaning the tables. Why did she want to go to art School?
She was elegant and beautiful. Every step she took toward the table reminded me of a princess. I envied her majesty and beautiful blonde hair. How could someone so simple also be so complex? My mind was askew.
She wore words on her sleeves, on her mind was the menu of the best choices on offer to convert the food into energy. It had become essential to serve and be.