Monday, December 6, 2010

What NaNoWriMo Taught Me

So for the few who haven't had a chance to hear me gloat on myself, I finished NaNoWriMo with 50,150 words written. (Actually, my total word count for the month was about 61,000 but I only verified 50,150). So, I can officially say that I won NaNoWriMo 2010. And I'm very proud of myself for doing so.

With the exception of a few author's notes before I started the story (such notes saying what the title is or what issues I was having at the time) I tried to only post what I had written for NaNoWriMo as I wrote it. So, now that it is December 6th, I want to look back at NaNoWriMo and what it has taught me.

1. Writer's Block Does Not Exist

The first lesson is that there seriously is no such thing as "writer's block". True, you may not be able to write anything "productive", but no matter what kind of mood you are in or how few of ideas you have, you can write something no matter what. I can say this, because throughout November I wrote 49500 words without a plot. That's right, I only had a solid plot idea when I only had 500 words to go to make the 50k mark. Consequently, those were probably the fastest and easiest 500 words I wrote all month.

True, I did have a plotline starting out. This girl, Marti, was a waitress whose body was acting like it's pregnant even though the tests (once she managed to actually take a test) said she wasn't. But, after writing 35000 words, and discovering that I was only 3 days into the plot, I realized that my original plot was not going to hold up. At that point, I thought I had to take the first 35000 and work into it a different plot, wherein one of the Elemental Persons died from not being linked to the other Elemental People and Marti was picked to fill in the missing Element. Under this plot, the "pregnancy symptoms" were her body adjusting to being an immortal.

While I loved my other three Elemental Persons who were formed out of the three old ladies that I had previously had visit the restaurant, this plot wasn't something I was really excited about writing. For starters, my writing is much more "slice-of-life" than it is fantasy as the Elemental plot would have had to be. Secondly, the Elemental plot meant that the cover I had designed and the title, Stuck in Estrogen's Funhouse, were no longer any good.

A few days later, after a lot of pointless, random writing about the going ons of Applebee's, I got into a conversation with one of my Word War buddies, Amy Tilberg, about the problems I was having with my plot. She suggested I switch something up, have Marti decide to leave Applebee's for a different job. Within about thirty minutes time, my story was saved and I finally had a good, solid plot. Marti was not to be an Applebee's waitress, well... she had indeed been an Applebee's waitress in her past, but Marti's current job was a bartender at a local night club called the Flash Point. The original pregnancy symptoms were still needed, as that which was my main plot became a subplot. Marti's body had been behaving as though she were pregnant, her hormones a total mess, and in the midst of being held prisoner in her own mind/body,she falls into an affair with one of the bar customers, who ends up being her latest co-worker. However, despite her emotions going haywire and insisting she falls for the young gentleman, Erik, she is still in love with her husband.

It was within that plotline, that I finished out my 50k, and instead of finishing the story, began editing/rewriting the first 50K so that the new plot was the focus.

Which leads me to lesson 2

2. Plot Will Write Itself
When re-writing Stuck in Estrogen's Funhouse, I realized that while I did need to add scenes, most of the initial editing process included taking out parts that no longer fit in with the new plot. I still used a good portion of the first 50k that I had written throughout NaNoWriMo. A lot of the writing was re-located, moving to some other spot in the story than it had originally been written for, some dialogue even went from being spoken by one character to being spoken by another, but most of what I wrote was usable with the new plot.
Also, I found, that the new plot fit in very nicely with everything I previously wrote. So even though I didn't know what plot I was writing for, the plot still showed up in a very rudimentary form anyway. That kind of made the editing process rock.
I'm under no delusions that once I REALLY edit the story, that is once the entire thing is on hard drive and i have Carissa edit it for the sake of editing, and not for the sake of making sure the story follows it's own plot, there will be a lot I have to revise/take out... but for now, for this NaNoWriMo writing-First draft stage, that is how it stands.

3. I Can Write Despite Working Full Time At the Office


Before NaNoWriMo, I had been working on focusing my efforts on my writing talent, but I had failed miserably. Starting out NaNoWriMo, I was convinced that I wouldn't succeed for the same reason I didn't feel like I actually wrote much this year between Jan-October; namely, my day job wore me out. I'd set about to writing every day, only to find myself exhausted and collapsing on my bed when I got off of work. I figured, since I didn't have any days off except the weekends, that NaNoWriMo was doomed to fail for the same reason.


But, as you can tell, I survived. In fact, I more than survived as I now have a decent novel in the works that I'm way excited about. And the funny thing is, I wasn't wrong with my worries. I WAS often exhausted from work, and more than once I passed out when I got home from the office. However, just because I passed out didn't mean that I didn't do my writing that night. Matt was very good about letting me get 2-3 hours of sleep, and then waking me up and setting me to my writing.


So, even with a full-time day-job, I was still able to crank out over 50000 words in a months time... I hope this isn't a lesson I forget.


4. You Can Tell A Difference in Writing When the Author Is Being Honest, Even If the Author is You

One major difference between Stuck in Estrogen's Funhouse and any of my previous writing, which I hope you will be able to enjoy someday soon, is that I let go of any of my writing inhibitions during the process of writing it. It was a gradual process, but it made a huge difference. At first, I just de-censored the extra characters. An expo guy actually exclaimed "Damn Marti" instead of "Gosh/Darn/crap/ect Marti." Honestly, while, having been a waitress in my past, I knew that "Damn Marti" was much more realistic to the restaurant environment, I felt just a bit reluctant not having expo guy say "crap marti" or any other substitute. Why? Because I was worried about what my "main readership" would think. My mother, sister, and grandmother read most anything I write, and I wasn't wanting to upset them. The way I saw it was that I was lucky they took the time to read what I wrote, and if they stopped then I'd basically be writing for myself alone without anyone even glancing at it.

By the time the plot became it's current plot though, I had to abandon all pretenses of censoring my own writing. Crystal, Marti, Spencer, and the side characters all are now presented without any censoring on my part. What this means is that, more than once, you'll hear an explicative be said by any or all of my characters for various reasons. Also what it means, is that my writing became a lot more intimate and graphical than what any of my previous readers would consider my norm. Normally, I'd say the characters crawled in bed and drifted off to sleep. Now, with my newly-noninhibited writing, you experience an intimate scene between Marti and Spencer, and while I haven't (yet) had to write a sex scene, it's a lot more than I'd normally write down.

The thing is, while, yes, I might lose some of my normal readers (my sister, upon hearing that I changed the plot no longer wants to read it) and that is a bit scary... the characters are much more real to me than most of the other characters I've written about since I started writing my own fiction. I make a slight exception in the case of Lilliana and her friend Emily, as they were children intimate scenes and explicative language wasn't really censored so much as nonexistent, at least as far as I had gotten written before the story got put on an indefinite pause. 

Not only has writing uninhibited caused my characters to be more real to me than ever before, but also I find that a lot of the time I would spend thinking "what would X character say if... no, not that.... that's not right..." is eliminated. "This order is wrong. I need it remade." "Damn Marti." is so natural and, really, in the scheme of things such a small line, that I can continue writing bigger scenes that are of higher importance to the plot and story.  

And so, should you get the privilege of reading my finished copy of Stuck in Estrogen's Funhouse, please do not accuse me of "needless cussing." I swear to you, I didn't go overboard with my new uninhibitedness. I didn't write in a sex scene (should there be one) just because I can, or an explicative just because I can. While, I won't go english-teacher on you and say that I spend hours thinking of just the right word to come after "the", I try not to write too much fluff and word padding into an actual novel. So if there's an f-word or intimate scene, it's to allow the characters to react naturally in the situation they are in, to develop character, and to move the story alone. I'll tell you right now that the intimate scene that is written is done so to leave no doubt in the reader's mind that Marti really does love her husband, as does he love her. 

There are probably other lessons I've learned. Certainly, there's still lessons I need to learn, but those are the ones that stick out in my head. 

I'm incredibly pleased with myself for winning NaNoWriMo. I cannot wait to hold the paperback proof copy of my book in my hands, and I am definitely looking forward to another year of working on my writing talent, and next year's NaNoWriMo, which I will most definitely be participating in. In fact, my plan is to write next year's NaNoWriMo novel so that, after being edited, it is fit to be sent off to Harlequin publishers... but if I'm to do that, I've got a long way to go in a year. 

Sunday, November 21, 2010

NANOWRIMO Day 21


However, after I got off of my morning shift on Tuesday, I received a phone call from Dr. Duck. 
“Marti?”
“Yes?” I said into the phone.
“This is Dr. Darnold Duck. We just got your test results in.”
“And?” I asked, eager to hear what Dr. Duck found out.
“Everything looks good. Your thyroid is fine, no sign of diabetes, you aren’t pregnant, prolactin is normal. So that leaves us wondering what is wrong, and can we get you a fix until it regulates itself again.” 
“Everything looks good. Your thyroid is fine, no sign of diabetes, you aren’t pregnant, prolactin is normal. So the only thing I can suggest is a test for hormone levels. Namely estrogen. Is the medication I gave you working?”
“Well I do not feel as gassy. Though I feel nauseous most of the time I am working since the visit.” I admitted. 
“Have you been keeping up with your journal?”
I climbed into my car and shut the door. “I’ve been trying to. There’s a lot of info you wanted me to write down.”
“Ok, Well, I am going to hand you over to my receptionist, I think we’ll have you make another appointment for two weeks from now. Keep that journal updated, and feel free to include any other details you find relevant to the problem. When we get you back in here I will test your estrogen levels. I am thinking estrogen is probably our culprit. The symptoms fit, and  around your age women do tend to go through a sort of secondary puberty. I will explain more about that at the appointment. For now, is there any questions or anything?”
“No. Just trying to keep going.”
“That’a girl. I will see you in two weeks.”
Dr. Duck put me on hold for about five seconds, when the receptionist picked up the line. She scheduled me in for three Mondays from now, and then I drove to the bank, dropped off my tips and headed home to Spencer. 
The following two weeks were excruciating. I decided, after the phone call with Dr. Duck, that estrogen was the problem and I did not miss an opportunity to tell Spencer that I felt like estrogen had taken me hostage in my own body. It was a good enough comparison.
How else do you explain feeling dissociated from your body?  The feeling that you feel great, you want to be up and active, running around, but your body will only allow you to get up to go to the bathroom? How can you explain desiring chocolate and chicken but only being able to stomach lasagna or some other beef-based dish? That probably makes no sense at all to someone who hasn’t experienced it. 
Or how about the fact that I want to cuddle up to my husband and kiss him, yet instead I yell at him about watching ‘that stupid game’ or something else that evidently irked me off. And then I would sit there, wishing I could forgive him for whatever his offense was, but not able to get the words to come out of my mouth. Instead of “I am sorry for being a pain in the butt,” what ended up happening was that I bursts into tears over the fact that I was hungry and he hadn’t even asked if I might want something to eat. 
Then, there were the trips to the bathroom. Of course, everyone has to deal with that. When you got to go, you got to go. that is not unreasonable. But I feel for my friends who, in high school, tried to continue going to school while pregnant. Or even my friends who are working while pregnant. Not that I am pregnant, according to the tests I am not, but if what Dr. Duck had suggested was true, then I was experiencing the very same side effects of a woman who was. For anyone that is curious and has never been pregnant, here’s what they mean when they say pregnant women pee more frequently: You start the day, you get out of bed, pad your tired butt into the bathroom, then go and eat. By the time you finish your breakfast (If you are lucky and you do not have to interrupt your breakfast by visiting the bathroom again), you are once again back on the toilet. After that, you go to pick up a book. After reading ten or fifteen pages, you find yourself once again back on the toilet. Nobody is exaggerating when they say that you will be on the toilet at least once every hour, on the hour, if not in between. 
All in all, it was a very crappy two weeks. And to just make everything so much harder than it already is being stuck in estrogen’s funhouse, my jeans did not fit me anymore. And my work pants were tight. I ended up buying a new pair of slacks about halfway through the first week. As for jeans, I decided to just wear pajama bottoms around the apartment when it was just Spencer and I. If I had to go out, then I wore my black stretchy pants and a t-shirt. 
Throughout it all, Spencer was the best. Seriously. I will not go as far as saying that he did not mind it when I yelled at him, but at the same time he did not treat me like crap just because I treated him like crap. He still gave me massages when my back hurt, (Which was frequent thanks to the fact that whatever was causing all of the insanity, also increased my breasts from being a B cup to being a DD. I have learned very quickly that big boobs really are not all that they are cracked up to be. What gets guys attention, and, yes, they do most certainly do that, also causes a ton of stress on your middle back.) And he did cook me lasagna regularly. Once I was escaped this funhouse, I was going to have to tell him how much I appreciated his support. 
At work, Sage was starting to worry about me. She kept seeing when I wanted to start bartending and even asked if I needed the day off a few times. I did actually take her up on that offer a few times. But, as serving was my only source of income until Spencer got a job teaching, I couldn’t make a habit of it. I had a strict rule that I stuck to which said that I could not take off more than one shift a week. The schedule was running me ragged, but I had survived it, so far.
The doctor’s appointment wasn’t too bad either. Spencer demanded to come in with me, so that if I forgot something he could mention it. Dr. Duck had me take another pee test, this one was for both pregnancy, ‘just in case’ he told me, and estrogen levels. He said that I was to take two pee-cups home with me and take one sample each day, and return them all to him by Wednesday. Since the estrogen test was a three-part test. He then explained to me that he wouldn’t be concerned if the tests came back higher than expected.
“It would just mean,” he said. “That I was correct and you are experiencing a period of growth.” I scoffed when he said that. I did not need to grow, I was twenty-seven. I needed to be sane. But Dr. Duck said that every woman goes through this growth spell sometime in their twenties, only most do not know it because they experience it when pregnant. According to Dr. Duck pregnancy doesn’t actually increase your breast-size, the growth spurt does. And estrogen is the hormone behind both pregnancy symptoms and breast development, so the vast majority of women just have a hard time with the first trimester or so of pregnancy, instead of experiencing the symptoms separate from the pregnancy, like he thought I was. 
“The good thing,” He said, at the end of the appointment, “Is that if the tests come back saying that your estrogen levels are high, I can confidently say you are going through a period of development. The plus side of that is that you will not have to go through it later, and you know it is not going to last forever. The bad news is, much like pregnancy, there’s not much I can do about the nausea if that is the case.”
I asked him how long this growth spurt lasted, and his reply was that it varies from person to person. Even though he did admit that studies on the growth spurt were mostly inconclusive because of the fact that most women go through it all in their first pregnancy. His personal opinion was that it took a pregnant woman’s body just as long as a normal-woman’s body to work through the growth spurt, which meant around thirteen weeks. Which, if all he said was true, meant I still had to live for another six weeks in this hormonal Hell. 
As time went by though, and the estrogen tests came back saying that I did have elevated levels of the evil hormone in my body, I learned tricks to help make the hostage situation be livable. For one, if I wasn’t working at Applebee’s, I allowed myself to lay around on a self-imposed bed rest. Also, while working, I wore a bracelet that had a little bump sticking out that I was supposed to press into my wrist when I felt nauseous. It did not take the problem away, but it did send it to more of a back-of-my-mind thing instead of being front-and center. It made work workable, though the exhaustion was still a hassle. 
It was a very pleasant surprise when, about two weeks after my second visit with Dr. Duck, I was able to go an entire shift at work without feeling the slightest hint of nausea. I was still tired, so it wasn’t like I was all the sudden jumping around and dancing from table to table, but at least I wasn’t feeling nauseous. Not for that shift at any rate. 
“So your doctor said that you can expect this to last for six more weeks?”
“Five now.” I corrected Crystal as we once again stood around folding silverware, waiting to get off from our shift. “And I am kind of starting to acclimate to the symptoms.”
“So it is not bothering you so much?”
“Think of it like this.” I said, thinking of a good metaphor. “Imagine that someone, let’s say your sister, got mad at you and used some hypothetical super super-glue to glue your foot to your shoe, with a thumbtack stuck in the bottom of the shoe near the padding of your foot. Now, super super-glue is different from plain old super-glue; whatever the super super-glue glue bonds to, it will stick to for a month. Nothing you or anyone else can do would get your foot away from the sole of the shoe after it has been attached with the use of super-super glue. So your little sister thought it would be funny to cover the soles of your favorite shoe with this super super-glue, with a thumbtack pointing up near the middle of your foot. The first few seconds after you inserted your foot into the shoe would hurt like hell. You’d be cussing and trying to get your foot out of your shoe and hopping around on your other foot. But, of course, since this is super super-glue and not just plain old super glue, you  get your foot out. Meaning, that for the next four weeks you have to walk around with a thumbtack stuck in your foot.”
“Damn. I must have really gotten on Natalie’s last nerve. My foot hurts just thinking about it.” 
“Exactly, and it would continue to hurt the entire four weeks, though eventually you’d just be walking around saying, “ouch” every hour or so when the pain increased from it is usual pain to ‘OUCH! THAT HURT!’ pain. But since you are already in constant pain, the kind that say OUCH! THAT HURT!’ no longer gets a scream from you. Just a plain old “ouch.” As though maybe you got a paper cut.”
“I guess that makes a little sense. it is that bad?”
“Well, not pain-wise. But, until today, I’ve felt nauseous anytime I entered the restaurant. So, imagine coming to work and every time you did you felt as though you were going to throw up constantly, though you never did. that is what it has been like. And, I assume that the nausea will return. Since I’ve still got a little over a month to go according to Dr. Duck.”
“Well it is not all bad.” Crystal said, her voice taking on a mischievous tone and an evil glint appearing in her eye.
“Yes, it is.” I said.
“You look good Marti. All curvy and whatnot. I am sure Spencer likes it.”
“Spencer knows how uncomfortable it has made my life. And while he isn’t upset about some aspects of it, he is smart enough to not draw my attention to those parts of it. it is done nothing but caused me pain and annoyance.”
Crystal scoffed. “Sweetie, I wouldn’t mind inconvenience to look like you. Not at all.” 
“It’ll happen to you one way or another someday. And let me tell you, it is not worth it.”
“Leave Spencer at home and we’ll go clubbing and show you how incredibly worth it the inconveniences were.”
I laughed. “You, my dearest friend, need to be in a serious relationship.”
“Why would I do that? There’s so many guys out there. Life is too short to just pick one of them.”
“Just wait, you are going to fall deeply in love with Clint and within three months of marriage find yourself pregnant.”
“Not likely.” She scoffed at me. “That would be like marrying my brother.”
“Too bad I do not have a brother. You could marry him and we’d be sisters.” 
“I am as good as your sister without that.” Your parents have never minded my being around. 
“Yea, that is true. Still, when you fall you are going to fall hard.”
“You  fall if you do not have a type. And I do not. I have not-my-types, but I do not actually have a type.”
“You do. You just have not found it yet.” 
“Well that is kind of funny because I have been dating since my sixteeth birthday and I have yet to find a type.”
“You got pretty torn up over Rocky.” 
“Yea, well he was the first one that I came close to loving. He’s still not ‘my type.’”
“I think Clint is your type. that is why you’ve never dated him, because if you did and if it worked out then you’d be tied down and overran with kids.”
“I have never gotten together with Clint because he never asked, and as stated earlier it’d be like being with my brother.”
“He never asks because you stay away. Remember your Sweet Sixteen party? Bryant asked you to be his for the week or so, but Clint had got you,”
“The Gucci sparkle banana purse. I still have it.” Crystal said, grinning. “do not tell anyone though.”
“See? You kept the present he gave you for your Sweet Sixteen. And, think about it, is a Gucci anything cheap?”
“No. But you know Clint, he never spends any money on anything. He’s had the same jeans since he got out of college.”
“Exactly!” I said exasperated. “He spent a ton of money on you when he doesn’t even spend money on himself. I bet he’d have asked you out sometime that night if you weren’t stuck like glue to Bryant.”
“Not likely.” Crystal said. “And if so, I am glad he did not. I mean, can you imagine a relationship that last for four years when you are barely sixteen? that is insane.” 
“It doesn’t seem so when you are in that relationship.” I said, glancing at my wedding ring. Instantly one of those goofy cliche smiles that newly engaged girls get spread across my face.”
“You got it bad girl.” 
“Yea, I do.” I grinned, placing the last of the silverware on the finished pile. “That is it. Let’s get out of here. Where’s the checker?”
“Sean? Probably out back smoking. I will go get him.” Crystal said, disappearing to the back. 
Sean came back from outside, griping about his smoke break being cut short. Still, he checked our side work and got us signed out so I let him get away with it.”
“Wanna go out?” Crystal asked me as we headed out to our cars?”
“Out where?” I asked. 
“I dunno. Let’s go downtown. I feel like trying on clothes that costs at least a weeks worth of tips. it is Prom season so there should be plenty of dresses to try on and whatnot.”
“I will have to call Spencer first. But, sure. So long as you do not mind the possibility of my having to bail out thanks to exhaustion.” 
Crystal just laughed at me. “You are exaggerating. If you would go out and about instead of staying how you wouldn’t be so tired. You just wouldn’t. it is laying around that is causing you to be exhausted.”
It was my turn to laugh at her. “If only you knew.”  I grabbed my phone out of my apron and dialed Spencer. I told him I was going out with Crystal and I’d be home later, Then, I got into Crystal’s front seat as we sat out on our way Downtown. 
Then, I got into Crystal’s front seat as we sat out on our way Downtown. 

“So I think I need a new shirt.” Crystal said to me once we were on the highway.
“A new shirt?” I asked.
“A new shirt. Something black I think.”
“Most of your clothes are black, Crystal.”
“Yes, that is because black is highly versatile. It can be layered and placed with just about any of the pants I own. If I want to play secret-agent I can even wear it with black pants, even though if you ask me that makes a totally lame outfit.”
“I thought we were just going to try out different Prom dresses. Now you want to actually buy something?”
“I’m just saying I would not mind if I got a new shirt while we were out either.”
“And no doubt you’ll want a pair of socks as well.”
“O! Yea, I almost forgot that Miss Mismatched now has a store Downtown! Yes, I most definitely will have to stop there.” 

“You already have every set of three-socks they make.”
“There could be new ones. So, what are you going to do I you are pregnant?” Crystal asked.
“Well… I guess I am going to be a mommy if I am pregnant.” I said. Mommy. Wow. Actually, in the month and a half since my body decided to torture me half to death I had never really considered the possibility. I mean, I thought it was possible I was pregnant, but I had yet to consider that a possible pregnancy would make me a mommy, a mom, a mother, or mama. I was still far too young to be a mommy, mom, mama, or mother. Definitely too young to be a mother. 
“Awww! That is so awesome! I am going to be an honorary aunt!” 
“Not according to the tests you aren’t.”
“Those tests don’t know nothing. Seriously. My aunt’s sister-in-law tested negative till she was nearing the third trimester. She did not even find out for sure until twenty weeks.”
“I had a blood test.”
“Yea, those can be wrong too. My second cousin had three that all came back negative. She went in for her yearly pap and three days later they said that the test came back irregular and would she mind coming into the office for an ultrasound. The doctor literally laughed after they had her all hooked up to the ultrasound. They had the transmitter located more towards the ovaries and lower uterus and a foot kicked into the screen. They re-positioned the transmitter and there was a perfectly healthy baby waving at them. At least, that is the way that she always tells me it happened. Six months later she had her firstborn son.”
“It’s not likely though.” I argued back.
“So what is it then?”
“Just dumb hormones. You know how everyone says that you change and mature around age thirty?”
“Yea.”
“Well my doctor thinks I’m going through that a bit sooner than the average woman does.”
“Lucky you.”
“Lucky me.” 

Tuesday, November 16, 2010

NANOWRIMO Day 16

GOOD NEWS- I hit 40K today! ALSO- the original plot/title is still in effect. I figured out how to fix it thanks to Amy! Thanks Amy! And now, on with Stuck in Estrogen's Funhouse!


I said. “So maybe I’m over whatever I was.”

“That sounds like optimism talking.” Sean said.

I sighed. “Maybe it is.” And we all continued folding the silverware in silence. It took us about ten minutes to finish up. I think that had a lot to do with the fact that I made sure everyone else did their fair share of silverware before being allowed to leave. At any rate, setting up for tomorrow’s shift should be a piece of cake.

“We’re ready to go.” Janice said after we cleaned up our silverware folding table and put everything away for the night.

“Everything done?”

“Yup.” I chimed in happily.

“Ok, let’s go around and make sure.” Jason said, grabbing his managerial flashlight and heading over to the front of the restaurant. He shined the flashlight underneath all the tables and over all the cracks, did a spot check on a few of the tables to see that the sugars, ketchups, salt, and pepper were well stocked, and then checked the counter areas. “Looks good kids. Have a good night.” He said, giving us the go ahead to leave since we already turned in our check out for the night.

“Have a good night Janice!” I called to her as I jumped into my car.

“You too! Get some rest before starting your shift tomorrow morning.”

I wasn’t sure how likely that was, given the fact that I didn’t feel tired at all at the moment. I drove to the bank and deposited all of my money, minus one of the hundred dollar bills. I figured it might be good to keep on me in case of an emergency or whatever. So I placed all the other money I had earned into the automatic teller machine, minus the one hundred I kept for myself, and drove home.

By the time I got home, my body finally decided to feel all the energy I have used throughout the day. I had yawned as I drove away from the bank, and had to blink my eyes several times at the long annoying stoplight. When I got to my apartment, I took out my key and entered into the apartment, walking straight back to the bedroom and just taking off my pants and shirt. I’d worry about getting dressed tomorrow.

“Good night?” Spencer mumbled as I crawled into bed and snuggled up next to him.

“Good night.” I said, drifting off to sleep. I made a mental note to tell him about the old ladies and the nerf gun ambush tomorrow morning before heading off to work again.

Dr. Darnold Duck

The next few days went by in much the same fashion. Work was tiring, but not the exhausting affair it had been before I met NormaJean and the old ladies. I made an appointment with my doctor, and wasn’t looking forward to the visit. What was I supposed to say ‘Hello there Dr. Darnold Duck, I have been feeling really crappy lately. You know, kind of like when I’m getting my period, only I still don’t have my period. And while I still don’t have it, I’m suddenly feeling better so my being here is kind of pointless. Here, have a hundred dollars. See ya’ round.’ Ha. Yea. Right.

“You ready to go?” Spencer asked, swinging the car keys around his finger.

“Yea, I suppose so.” I said, and followed him out to the car.

“I’ll come in with you if you want.” Spencer said for the fortieth time since I scheduled the appointment.

“It’s not necessary. The test wasn’t positive, and I don’t even feel bad now. But I was apparently bad enough that a customer even told me to consult a doctor.” I said on a sigh. “And, since that same customer provided me with the money to go,” I said, flashing the hundred dollar bill that I had crumpled in my hand. “So, here I am. It’ll be nothing. Maybe I’ll get referred to a sleep specialist.”

Spencer stayed quiet for the rest of the ride. “You sure you don’t want me to come with?”

I laughed. “Spencer, I’ll be fine. Go and have fun across the street. I’l text you when I’m done.” I said, kissing him and hopping out the the car.

I walked down the pavilion and into the doors that were marked by big, pink glowing letters that said ‘Women’s Center.’ “Dr. Darnold Duck. 2 O’Clock.” I said the the receptionist.

“Ok. Name”

“Martina MacCale.”

“Ok, Go ahead and have a seat. I’ll tell him you are here.”

I did as she said, flipping through the Parenting magazine that was sitting on the end table. As I read a story about how to deal with a difficult toddler, I found my lungs constrict as though I was about to cry. The feeling was all too familiar as of late. And though I now felt better physically, I spent the last week in and out of tears. For any and all reasons. I cried during Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, when Rita Skeeter was ‘interviewing’ Harry in the broom closet. Just the mention of Harry not growing up with parents and his eyes filling up with the ghosts of his past had me nearly bawling. Something that Spencer teased me about to no end. Which caused me to get angry with him, and then cry about that.

“Martina?” The nurse in the door said.

I closed the magazine and dabbed at my eyes with my jacket sleeve, then went to the door.

“Are you OK?” The nurse asked me as we walked back to the exam rooms.

I nodded my answer. “Just teary. I’m fine.” I said, swallowing and grinning. “Well, I’m fine unless you count my frustration with the fact that I keep tearing up at the oddest times.

“Are you pregnant?” The nurse asked, referring to my chart. “Just stand against the wall.” She instructed.

I did as she said while she took my height and weight. “Not according to the tests.” I said on a sigh. I followed her into the exam room where she had me roll up my sleeve and took my blood pressure.

“Well, that’s all I have to do. Before I get the doctor, what are your symptoms?

“Well…” I said, taking the time to make a mental list of the odd things my body has been doing to me for the past two weeks now. “I feel fat.” I started. The nurse actually laughed at that.

“You don’t look it.”

“You don’t know me. I have pictures of me and my husband three months ago, and I was a twig compared to this.” I said, grabbing my pulp belly between my thumb and forefinger.

“That’s completely normal. You’ll probably feel less fat after your period.”

“That’s just it. I haven’t got my period. And I’ve had cramps like no other, a few days my contacts didn’t want to stay in my eyes, felt gassier than I think I ever did as a newborn, craved lasagna and cursed all other food, oh, and did I mention mood swings? My husband accused me of them first, and I didn’t know what he was talking about. The frustrating thing is that I know what he means now, but I can’t do a thing to stop it. I’m ecstatic one minute and depressed and de-motivated the next.”
The nurse had quit laughing and was studying me. “Are you on birth control?”
I Sighed. “No. My husband and I went off of birth control two months ago instead of updating my shot.”

“So you are trying to get pregnant?”

“No! I mean, if it happens it happens. We’re neither trying to get pregnant or not trying to.”

“And you tested negative?”

“Yea, after I finally managed to properly pee on the dumb little stick.” Besides my failure to actually pee on the stick, I had found another way to fail pregnancy tests. Not peeing enough. I seriously felt like my bladder was about to burst three days ago when I woke up but I swear there was hardly enough to fill a little sewing thimble.

“I know it’s kind of disgusting to think about peeing in your own cups, but I advise anyone that asks me to invest in small plastic cups for that reason.” The nurse said. Apparently, I wasn’t the only one that figured out that it was in fact possible to fail a pregnancy test. After dispensing that tidbit of wisdom, she left me to wait for the doctor.

About five minutes later there was a knock on my door. “Come in.” I said.
The door opened and my doctor, Dr Darnold Duck, came in through the door. He was an experienced obstetrician and gynecologist. He was my mom’s doctor first, actually he helped deliver me into this world. Now, he was my doctor.

“How are we doing today Marti?”

“Well as you are not my psychologist, I’d have to say I’m doing pretty good.”

“Should I ask what the answer would be if I was your psychologist?”

I sighed. “Probably. I feel like a freaking out of control roller coaster.”

“Uh-huh.” Dr. Duck said, leaning against his counter. “Tell me more.”

“Well like, I was fine and perfect coming here today. But when I got into the waiting room I saw a Parenting magazine and it had an article about how to control difficult toddlers and I started bawling at the nuances that is toddlerdom.” I said, trying my best to remain pulled together. Dr. Duck didn’t say anything so I went on. “Two days ago I cried when Rita Skeeter was ‘interviewing’ Harry Potter in the broom cupboard in Goblet of Fire.” I said. “Just because of the line about his eyes filling up with the ghosts of his past.”

Dr. Duck laughed. “I’m afraid I’m not in the loop on the Harry Potter thing, my grandkids are into it but I’ve neither read the books or seen the movies. I take it that’s not a very emotionally charged scene?”

“No, it’s upsetting actually. But the line just reminded me that he grew up mainly without parents and I teared up as though it was the end of Titanic, and not an interview in a cupboard.

Dr. Duck unfolded his arms and studied me, similar to how his nurse had. “So you are coming to me because your emotions are a little wacky? If I remember correctly you opted to quit taking the birth control shot. The hormones in your body are probably adjusting to not having the hormones just be there. The adjustment period is to be expected.

“Well, I know that.” I said, feeling like maybe I was wasting both my hundred dollars and his time. “It’s just… I don’t know. I suppose I might have had a bug of some sort. But the last two weeks have just been odd. I’ve been eating lasagna by the panful. My contacts didn’t want to stay in my eyes for a few days. I keep running to the bathroom every ten minutes or so. I can’t sleep, even though I’m exhausted by the end of my shift. I was having issues with my body burping with the frequency of a case of hiccups. And, did I mention my stupid emotions?”

“Have you taken a pregnancy test?”

“Yes, it was negative.” I replied, still feeling a hint of pride at the fact that I had figured out how to actually pee on the stupid thing. Of course, after having heard the nurse’s suggestion about buying plastic cups for that purpose, I was fairly sure my days of failing pregnancy tests were over.

“Well I’m going to give you a test anyways. Just go down to the bathrooms down the hall, put your name on the cup before peeing and when you are done put the lid on the cup and put it in the silver dispenser area. I’ll meet you back here in about ten minutes. I’m also going to go ahead and give you a pelvic exam, so when you get back go ahead and get undressed from the waist down and sit on that table there with the blanket behind you.” Dr. Duck said, opening the door and pointing me towards the bathrooms.

Ten minutes later I was on the exam table with my feet dangling off the edge when there was again a knock on the door. Dr. Duck, followed by his nurse came in seconds later and I lay back against the exam table.

“Well, Marti, you were right. The test came back negative. I’m still going to examine you and see if I can find anything. That ok?”

I thought to myself that if it wasn’t, did he really think I’d have stripped myself from the waist down and then lay myself on this table? Not likely. “Yes.” I said.

“Ok.” Dr. Duck began. “First let’s have you sit up so I can listen to you breathe.” I did as he instructed and felt the cold metal of the stethoscope touch my back. “Deep breath in.” Dr. Duck instructed. “And out. Good. One more time, in. And out. Great job Marti. Go ahead and lie back down.” When I had done that he placed his hands on the top of my stomach and padded around with his fingertips down to below my belly button. It reminded me of a cat trying to find a place to lay down. “Good, nice and squishy.” He commented. I think it was for my benefit. “Well that all looks good. Let’s see what’s it look like from the inside. When was your last pap smear again?”

“Six months ago.” I said.

“Right.” Dr. Duck pulled the stirrups out from the sides of the table. “Scoot your but down here near the edge of the table and put your feet in the stirrups for me.” He instructed, and waited as I did.

Once I was situated, Dr. Duck put that annoying metal thing inside me, from what I can tell it was the some thing used for pap smears. Then he took his flashlight and gazed into the metal contraption. “All looks good down here, Marti. I’m going to feel for your uterus. See if it’s grown any.” He said, removing the metal contraption. He then stuck two of his fingers inside me, pushing upwards while his other had rested just above my pelvic bone. After he had sufficiently poked and prodded other areas in my lower abdominal region, he rolled his chair so that he was sitting to my side, paper blanket back in place. “Well, Marti.” He said to me, removing his gloves and throwing them away. “All looks normal. I won’t deny your symptoms sound like pregnancy, but it appears to me that you are not. It is possible, however that you are earlier along than you think, meaning I wouldn’t be able to tell if your uterus has grown or not. At the moment, your uterus is the same size as it should be.”

“So nothing is wrong with me? Cause I was kind of hoping that you’d know what was wrong with me.”

Dr. Duck laughed again. That’s a change. I come in here and all you tell me is that you are fine and later you want me to tell you what’s wrong.”

“Well, I haven’t felt bad for a few days. But the last two weeks have been a pain in the butt.” I said.

“I’m going to leave for a few minutes so you can get dressed. When I come back we can talk about some possibilities and where to go with them.”

And with that he left once more, the nurse following along after him. I got off of the exam table, went over to the pile of clothes I had made and began re-dressing myself. I then hopped back up on the exam table, and looked around at the little display model of a woman’s reproductive system.

The knock saying Dr. Duck had returned came about four minutes after I had gotten dressed. “Ok Marti. Here’s the deal. I’m going to give you a prescription for the issue you have been having with indigestion. Also, as I said from what I can tell, I don’t think that you are pregnant. However, it is obvious that something in your body is out of its normal rhythm. In order to be any more specific than that, I need to run a blood test. I want to just go ahead and have them check for pretty much everything. Thyroid, diabetes, pregnancy, prolactin levels to name a few of the biggies. As I’m having them scan you for diabetes please make sure that you don’t have the shot within four hours after eating and drinking. I can’t really do anything else until we get those results back in, so if you are worried about anything I’d get them done as quickly as possible.” Dr. Duck said, scribbling down what I suspected was my prescription. “In the meantime, I want you to keep a journal on you at all times. When you feel out of control emotionally, journal the date, time, place you are at, what led to the feelings, what the feelings make you want to do. Anything else you think important about it. In that same journal I want you to document when your body does something that you find odd or out of your control. Anything, frequency of bathroom visits, headaches, dizziness, whatever. Write it in your journal. The other thing I want you to keep in that journal is the food you ate that day. Don’t worry about calories or anything like that. I just want to have an idea what your diet is. Maybe malnutrition is causing some of this. Could be that you are missing some vitamins or minerals in your diet and your body is wanting those. I want to see a organized version of this journal next time I see you. Did you catch all that?”

“Record my diet, weird things my body does, and moods. Got it.” I said, sounding very much as though I was repeating back a customer’s order instead of a doctor’s.

“Great! Well how long you do that depends on when you get that blood test. Here’s your prescription as well as my order to get your blood drawn, and the local clinics around here that I suggest you go to. When I get those blood tests in I, or one of my nurses, will call you to have an appointment set up. Do you have any other questions?”

“Nope. I’ll get that blood test before dinner.” I said, hoping off of the exam table.

“That’a girl.” Dr. Duck said. Sometimes, it bugs me how patronizing he could be. Still, he was a great doctor and I couldn’t fault him for that.

I left Dr. Duck’s office, dropping off my hundred dollar bill I had gotten from the old ladies. Nearly as soon as the bill left my hand I began feeling nauseous.

Spencer was there when I got out of the clinic, and immediately asked me if I was ok after I climbed into the car. “I’m ok.” I assured him. “I just fee a bit nauseated. Dr. Duck gave me a prescription to help with indigestion. We should go pick that up, and also I’m supposed to have my blood drawn at one of these clinics.” I said, handing him the sheet. “We’ll have to wait another hour and a half or so though. I am supposed to wait four hours after eating before I get my blood drawn.”

Spencer took me to the pharmacy to get my prescription, which costs thirty-five dollars to fill, thanks to my not having insurance. I did have the next best thing though, a rewards card. So although I was paying outrageous prices for the medication itself, I at least benefitted from it too. We then went to the park to walk around and talk until it was time for me to get the shot.

A Change in Job

“I’m thinking about leaving Applebee’s soon.” I said to Spencer as we walked hand-in-hand around the walking trail. The weather was a bit on the chilly side, so I had on a light jacket, but other than that it was an ideal day.

“I thought you liked that job?’ He said, turning to face me.

“I did.” I said and after a pause added, “I do. Really, I do.” I said, looking into his eyes so that he would know I was being sincere. “It’s just…” I started playing with my jacket sleeves, shying away from saying the thoughts that had been percolating in my brain for the last month or so.

“What?” Spencer asked me, worry in his voice.”

“I’m kind of tired of being exhausted. I was thinking, if I get Sage to train me on Bartending…”

“So you meant to say that you were moving from waitressing to bartending? That’s great Marti! You have always said they make more money than you do now.” Relief shown on his face as his face lit up in excitement.

“Well, I’d have Sage train me, stay for about a month bar tending for Applebee’s. But I really want to work in a bar. Flash Point seems to be a very happening place. Crystal has a friend that works there and she easily gets four hundred a night. That’s quadruple what I’m making at Applebee’s. During the time I’ll be training bartending at Applebee’s and the time I’ll actually be bar tending for Applebee’s, I’ll be getting paid near double what I get for waitressing.”

“So leaving waitressing behind for bar tending all together?”

“That’s the plan. Plus, the dress code is more relaxed. I could actually wear my work clothes out and not look like I just got off of work. Are you upset?” The glow on his face had faded just slightly when I mentioned the Flash Point. It truly was the hottest night spot around. It had just about everything a night club could want. Multi-colored lights that flashed around the dance floor all hours of the day or night, a great and top-of-the-line stereo system. There were even small side-rooms for parties to gather in, aside from the typical VIP section most night clubs had. Which is probably what Spencer was thinking about that caused his face to dim. While the official purpose of the side-rooms was for parties to hang out, rumor had it a lot more actually happened in those rooms.

“I’m not upset. Just… confused. What made you think about giving up Applebee’s?”

“It’s something I’ve been contemplating for several weeks.”

“Does the Flash Point even have a dress code?”

I rolled my eyes. “Well, they prefer the bar tenders to at least have some type of shirt on. Will I have a uniform though? No. And you know the Flash Point isn’t a strip club. They do allow teens who are eighteen to come in.”

“If I’m not mistaken it’s twenty-one and up after two am.”

“City curfew for those under twenty-one is midnight. So it’s kind of silly to expect that those under twenty-one be at a club past that. I don’t even know why they bothered to make that rule. It’s not like it’s an old club and that’s just always been the rules. It just opened a few months ago.” I paused, waiting for him to say something. “Besides, this is still at least two months away. Bar tender training takes nearly a full month to graduate from. So it’s not like I’m going to be reporting into the Flash Point tomorrow or anything.”

“True.” Spencer said, thoughtful. “I’m sure it’ll be a great experience for you. It will probably just take me a little while to get used to the idea of you working in a night club. I suppose an advantage will be an improved wardrobe.” He said, perking up. “Too bad everyone else will see you in that same wardrobe.”

I shoved playfully at Spencer. “An improved wardrobe, huh? You don’t like my current wardrobe?”

“I didn’t say that. It’s just mostly practical. It’ll be great seeing you in clothing that actually shows off your curves. I can appreciate that.” He said, kissing me.

“This outfit isn’t totally practical.” I said, stepping away from him so I could be sure he got a decent look. I was wearing thin black sweat pants and a pink fitted t-shirt with a picture of a skull and crossbones with the words “I be a Pirate” printed beneath.

“No, it’s comfy. I would like to see you actually dress sexy every once in a while. Or, in the case of this possible new job, every night.”

“I occasionally dress sexy!” I cried in defense of my admittedly work-or comfy wardrobe. “I’ve got that little black dress I got for my birthday.’

“That you’ve worn a total of three times.” Spencer said.

“One of those three times was our anniversary. Our first anniversary.”

“Exactly. You’re great about dressing up for a reason, I just want to see you dressed up because you can. Is that so horrible of me?”

“Not horrible.” I conceded.

We continued walking around the walking trail, and when we finished it was about the time I was allowed to get the shot.

“Man I want a burger or something.” Spencer said when we got in the car.

“Then get me to a clinic so I can take this blood test and we can eat.” I said. “Do you know where any of these places are?”

“Yea, that one,” he said, pointing three business names down from the top of the paper. “Whenever I have to actually attend a class I pass it. It’s about twenty minutes from here.” He said, putting on his seatbelt and starting up the car.

“You’ll come in with me this time?”

“I would have gone into your doctors appointment if you wanted me in there. But yes, I will go in with you.”

“And hold my hand?” I asked. I didn’t mind pap smears and other doctor-type of visits… unless they featured a needle at some point. I got squeamish just at the thought of needled. Ironic, since my birth control of choice while I was on it was Depo Provera, more commonly known as ‘the birth control shot.’ Still, I never saw the needle. The nurses at Dr. Duck’s office knew better than to be waving needles around in front of me, as I actually passed out at my first visit.

One of the nurses had been taking a tray of needles to the back for testing or something like that, and I was walking back to the exam rooms. I saw the tray of needles and promptly fell over, unconscious. Dr. Duck laughed when, later after I had come around, I expressed my desire to put myself on the shot. He’d tried to talk me into getting on the pills (For which I informed him that I had inherited my mother’s affinity for forgetting to take pills), the patch (Which I thought would irritate my skin. I didn’t even wear jewelry because of the way it felt against my skin. Wedding ring excluded.), and even an IUD, or intrauterine device (Which I thought too risky if something screwed up). In the end, I got my way. I’d bring in the Depo Provera bottle, give it to the nurses, then lay facedown on the exam table. Once I was laying on the table, then the nurses would get out the needles and inject me with the shot. Dr. Duck always made sure I had the most experienced nurse there administering the shot, so I never even once felt it. I had a feeling that I’d feel the needle that was going to collect the blood from me.

“Of course.”

“And tell them to block my view from any needles before we go in. If I forget I mean.”

“I know, Marti. I will.” Spencer said, and then he grabbed my hand that was laying in my lap and squeezed it reassuringly.

The blood testing wasn’t all that bad. When I mentioned my problem with needles the nurse said that no needles were kept in sight. They were all stashed in cabinets and that I just had to look the other way the entire time. I closed my eyes to be sure. And, as promised, Spencer came in with me and held my hand, letting me squeeze his hand until it was over.

“Ok.” Said the nurse once the needle was put away. “You may open your eyes now Marti. And you might want to let your husband’s hand get a little circulation back init as well.” She said, laughter in her voice. As I opened my eyes she was carrying four test tubes, all filled with my blood, over to her computer to print out labels for them. “We’ll be shipping these off to our lab before I go home today. Your test results should be in within three or four days.” She said, leading the way back out to the waiting room area.

The wait was agonizing. Crystal asked me at the start of every shift if I had gotten the results back yet. The doctor’s appointment had been on a Thursday, meaning that “three or four business days” meant that I would not get my results back until Tuesday or Wednesday. I was back to all my weird lasagna cravings, and Spencer had been making a lasagna every-other day as a result. The good news was, my contacts were happily back in my eyes and I got plenty of sleep, when I wasn’t working that is. When I was working, I was still exhausted. And, while the medication that Dr. Duck had given me helped with the indigestion, it did nothing for the nausea I felt pretty much constantly while I was working. I hadn’t thrown up though, and I considered that a small victory over the whims of my body.

The day after the test, when I returned to work I had talked to Sage about getting me trained to be a bartender. She said that I could start training when I felt better. I began to wish that I’d see those old ladies again. Feeling decent those few days made the return of the nausea and dizziness and all the other crap unbearable. The good thing about being sick or not feeling good for a long while, is that after a while you forget what it was like to be feeling normal. You just, expect that you will feel like shit.

Sunday, November 14, 2010

NANOWRIMO Day 14


   Ok, so we're 14 days in and I just realized my initial plot plan wouldn't work. Luckily, unbeknownst to me, there was a subplot that I could bring to the front lines so once again  my novel has no title and no cover art :-( However, I'm still ahead so that's good! Now, on with the story. 


 "Great. Well here in about fifteen minutes I’m going to let the first round go.”
“Works for me.” I said. “Just give me the chart of who is doing what.”
“That’s what I’m going to be doing for fifteen minutes, making the chart.” Jason said, leaving and going to make the chart. Jason was a spastic manager. It’s like he was always looking for the employees to approve of what he was doing, whether it was calling a pre-shift meeting or assigning the side work out. It was kind of a good thing, because it meant that the entire team, including management, worked as a team and not a leader and followers. But it was also bad because it meant that some of the servers used Jason to get what they wanted. It was Jason’s passivity that often caused the morning shift to have to fold a bunch of silverware that the night crew ‘lost’ somehow.
I continued folding silverware, until I saw the health-conscious girl put down the check book. I then walked over to the table and collected it. “Ok, I’ll go run this,” I said as I picked it off of the table. “Would you like another pomegranate lemonade?” I asked the woman.
“No thanks.”
“You don’t want one to go?” I asked.
“Oh, I can get them to go?”
“Yes. Would you like one?”
“Yes please.”
“Ok, I’ll bring that back when I have the check.” I said, leaving the table and heading to the POS. I rang in an order for a to go pomegranate lemonade and then scanned their card through the system. Then, after picking up the to go cup at the bar, I went to get the woman’s signature. “Here’s your receipt, the restaurant’s copy is on top and I’ll need that one signed. Here’s your drink ma’am. Can I get you anything else?”
“I think we are good.”
“Ok, well I hope you both have a wonderful night. Come back to Applebee’s soon.” I said, walking away and back to the silverware. I folded a few more while I waited for the couple to leave. Once they had disappeared, I decided to start cleaning up my tables so that I’d have less to do come closing. I got new ketchups to put at each table, refilled the salt shakers and checked on the pepper, counted the number of each kind of sugar in the sugar container that sat at each table, and wiped the tables clean of any crumbs. I also went ahead and wiped down the seat cracks, knowing that I might forget later. 
After I’d finished cleaning up my second two-top table, the hostess seated me. It’s the Murphey’s Law of restaurant seating. Just after you get things all cleaned up you will be seated. I left the cleaning cloth on the table I was wiping down, which is technically not allowed but of all the infractions committed, leaving your cleaning towel laying around was minor. It was a good way to loose the possession of the cleaning cloth, but no one ever got in trouble over it. Then I greeted the guest sitting at my two-topper. The guest was a single man, who was intent on finishing the New York Times crossword puzzle. 
“Can I help you Sir?”
“Yea, what’s a word for extremely rare? Eleven letters.” 
“Umm… I’m not sure. Can I get you something to drink?”
“Coffee.” He said, offhandedly while tapping his pencil.
“Ok, I’l be right back with that.” I once again turned to the POS and rang up a coffee for him. When I returned to hand him the coffee, I looked over his shoulder and at the paper to see how much of it he had solved. He had only solved two of the across clues and one of the down clues. He didn’t seem to be figuring any of them out either.
“Here’s your coffee, Sir. Do you usually do crosswords?”
“Huh?” He grunted. “No. My ex-wife did them often though. She left me for a editor for some publishing house. Doing these reminds me of her. Though I don’t really understand how they work.”
“Can I get you something to eat?” I asked. One would think the guy sleepwalked here. 
“Not right now. I just want my coffee.”

“Let me know if you need anything.” I said, returning once again to the silverware folding. It looked like the table would be a bust.

“Marti, quit folding all of that or else there will be none left for the others to fold.” Jason told me when he saw me working at it. 

“I need to do something.” 

“Well how about checking side work in ten minutes?” 

“I can do that.”

“Besides, you have a table, don’t you?”

“Yea, but the guy just wants a coffee and to do his New York Times crossword puzzle.”

“Well keep his coffee filled.”

“I am.” I said. 

“Why don’t you go and dump the silverware? You know how to run the dishwasher, don’y you?”

“Yea. I’ll go do that.” I said. I didn’t mind running the dish washer for silverware. It got darn right disgusting and dirty if you had to clean the plates and baskets and stuff. Silverware was easy enough though. I grabbed the bucket of silverware that had been sitting in cleaner solution, and dumped the silverware onto a flat tray. I then used the spray thingy that I found to be pretty cool cause it just kinda hung there till you grabbed it and squeezed, and sprayed the silverware down, using water pressure to knock off food pieces. Then, after putting the sprayer back in it’s hanging position, I shoved the silverware into the dishwasher and pulled down on the door handles. Having done that, I washed my hands and went to check on the guy again.

“Coffee good?” I asked.

“Yea.”

“Would you like more?”

“Not yet.”

“Can I get you anything else?”

“No. What’s a four letter word for provokes?”

“Honestly, I’m probably worse than you when it comes to those things. I’ve never been able to figure them out unless they all had to do with vocabulary words we were currently learning in school. Even then I got some of them wrong if the words were too closely related.” I laughed at my own ignorance concerning crosswords. 

The guy smirked at me. “That’s pretty bad, kid.” 

“Yea, I suppose so.”

“Tell you what, I’ll take a cup of french onion soup.”

“I’ll have that right out.” I said, and I wasn’t kidding about that. All of our soups are already made, sitting in a stew pot keeping them warm and fresh until somebody orders it, so I put the order into the POS and then went to stand by the counter. It took a whole two minutes before steve called my name and said my soup was up. I grabbed the tray with the soup on it, and the coffee pot, and went back to the guy doing the New York Times crossword puzzle. “Here you go Sir.” I said, handing the cup of soup over to him. And I’ll go ahead and give you more coffee, this is freshly brewed.” I took his coffee cup and refilled it to the top.

“Thanks.” He said, dipping his spoon into the soup and tilting the spoon so the soup went back into the cup. “Looks hot.”

“It is, I’d give it a few minutes to sit if I were you.”

“Not a bad idea.” 

“Well I’ll leave you be, just let me know if you need anything. My name’s Marti by the way.”

“Thanks Marti.”

Without saying another word I walked away from the table. That’s the only time I really feel awkward around customers. I mean, you want to build relationships with them and to get to know them, and they want to eat their food. If they say they need something or want to order something else, then it’s easy, you just turn around and go retrieve that item or order the additional food that they request. It’s when you start conversations with them or they are perfectly fine and say they don’t need anything when you just walk away that feels entirely awkward. Still, after a while you get used to it. But some people it just feels rude to leave. Like the poor loners who come to eat by themselves. I always feel sorry for them. I hate eating out at a restaurant by myself. It’s so lonely. And as a result, I often pity the people even if they may seem perfectly ok with the idea. 

However, as I was checker tonight, I did not have to worry about an excuse to leave the table and go and do my own thing. For starters, I had to now sort the silverware I had just put into the dishwasher and then send it through the dishwasher again before I told the servers how many pairs of silverware they would have to fold before I checked them out. So I headed back to the dishwasher, released the door, pulled out the tray of silverware and took it to one of the back prepping tables where I sorted the tray of silverware into forks, spoons, and knives and put them all into little plastic washing cups according to their kind. When I finished with that chore, the normal dishwasher of the night had signed back on from his break and I pushed the silverware over to him. “Final rise.” I said, washing my hands and heading back out to the floor. 

“Marti, can you take my table? Please? I really gotta smoke before the closing shift starts. You can keep the tips.”

“Well if you are wanting me to take your table and not just watch over it I better get the tips.” I said. “Go. I’m not too busy at the moment.”

Murphy’s Second Law of Restaurant Seating says that if you agree to take over someone else’s table, you yourself will be sat just as you start to tend to the table you picked up. Sure enough, while I was taking the four-top that Sean had given up, my two middle tables I had just gained control of when the other servers were let go were joined together and seated. An eight top. 

I made sure that the four-top had gotten their drinks and told them to give me just one quick minute while I got my other table started. 

“Welcome to Applebee’s my name is Marti and I’ll be your server tonight.” I said, greeting the table of eight adults that had just gotten settled. “How’s everyone doing.” 

A chorus of goods and greats chorused through the group. 

“Night out without the kids. I’m doing fantastic.” Said the young brunette who was closest to me.

The man who I assume was her husband grinned at her, “You just want to be able to drink a little.”

“I love our kids,” she said, “I just like getting together as adults every once in a while too.”

“Can I go ahead and get drinks?”

“Yea, I’ll take an AppleBeeTini.” Said the brunette that had spoken a second ago.

“A Strawberry Perfect Flavor Margarita for me.” Said the girl who was sitting next to her.

“I want a hurricane.” Said the blonde that was at the other end of the table.

“And I’ll take a Bahama Mama.” Said the girl on the other side of the table across from the one that ordered a Hurricane. 

“And for the guys?”

“Sam Adams all around.” Said the husband of the girl closest to me. He looked around at his friends, all of who were nodding in agreement. 

“Ok, so that’s four Sam Adams, a AppleBeetini, Strawberry Perfect Flavor Margartia, a Hurricane and a Bahama Mama?”

“And get us two orders of chili cheese nachos. No jalapenos on one of those.” Said one of the guys further down the table. 

“Ok. I’ll have all those drinks and your chili cheese nachos out shortly.” I said. “Will this be on one or four checks?”

“Put it all on one. We’ll divvy it up.” Said the brunette. 

“Ok, that works for me. I’ll get those drinks right out.” I turned to go and check up on my other table on the way to the POS. The table of eight adults immediately started chattering as soon as I left. 

“Are we ready to order here?” I asked the four top. 

Yea, we’ll take a fire pit bacon burger, a steakhouse burger, and a chicken tenders platter for the kids to split”.” The dad said. 

“So that’s a fire pit burger, a steakhouse burger, and a chicken tender platter. Would you like me to have the chicken tender platter split in half for you?”

“Please.”

“Ok, I’ll go ring it in now.” I said, hurrying off to the POS to press in the orders for both of the tables. I then went to sit by the bar until my 8 drinks were up. It took about a minute and a half, thanks to all of the girls’s drinks. I collected them all together and then delivered them to the table. While I was passing out the girls’ drinks, Lindsay came by to get me.

“Marti, can you come and check my tables before someone seats them for the closers?” 

“Sure. Just let me get this table first. I’ll be right over.” I said, then I turned back to the table. “Are we all ready to order?”

“Not yet. We’ll order when we get those nachos out.” One of the four guys said.

“Ok, well those should be out in a few short minutes.”

“Hey,” One of the guys called back to me as I walked away, “Could you make sure the jalapenos that were supposed to go on the chili cheese nachos that I told you to take off come on the side?”

“Yea, I’ll get them out here for you.” I said, then walked over to check out Lindsay’s tables. 

“You’ll need to wipe down the cracks between the booth and the wall.” I said, I could see food in the crack even as I just walked up to the table. After I got  to the table, I picked up the salt and pepper shakers and tapped them side-by-side. That knocked any air bubbles out and allowed us to see how much salt was really in the shakers. The pepper shakers almost never ran low. The salt levels were fine, so I replaced them on the table. I then counted the sugars and picked up the ketchup bottle, shaking it to feel how much was left. “I need two more blue packets of  sugar in that container and you’ll have to replace the ketchup at this table.” I said, going on to her second table. I did the same checks, and all but the cracks and the salt passed there. At her third and forth tables all was good except for the cracks. I told her that she needed to correct those things and then she’d be ok. “Let me know when you get the check books wiped down.” I told her, going back to check on the silverware.

The dish washer had put the silverware on the front counter and I got the area set up so that as the servers finished their main side work and tables, it would be all set up for them. I then went back to the dishwasher and told him to put in another tray of silverware.  As I washed my hands and reentered the floor steve called out my name. “Marti! Two chili cheese nachos!” 

“Got it!” I called, walking over to take the tray away from steve. “And can I get a side of jalapenos for this?”

“Side of jalapenos!” Steve yelled over the counter to the cooks. 

The cooks took a small dish and put about ten jalapenos into it and slid it across the counter to steve, who put it on my tray. “You got that eight-top?”

“Yup. Fraid’ so.”

“Well I know you got it under control. Just don’t forget about running their food out.”

“I won’t.” I said, heading to the eight top with the nachos. I places one tray of chili cheese nachos in the middle of each of the tables and passed out eight plates. “Are we ready to order now?” I asked. 

“Yea.” Sighed the brunette. “I want a paradise chicken salad.”

“I’ll take a 12 ounce Ribeye with mashed potatoes.” Said her husband. I sighed in relief when I head him say mashed potatoes unprompted.

“I’ll have the double crunch shrimp.” Said the girl who had ordered the strawberry margarita.”

“Steakhouse burger for me, and I want onion rings instead of fries.”

“That’s an extra dollar and sixty cents.”

“That’s fine.” The guy said, taking a swig out of his Sam Adams glass. 

“Fire pit burger for me.” Said the guy across from him.”

“And I’ll have the sizzling skillet fajitas with guacamole. I don’t care about the extra charge either.” Said the woman next to him. 

“I’ll take a honey barbecue  chicken sandwich. No tomato.” Said the man who was sitting next to her.

“And I’ll have the fish and chips.” Said the girl on the far end of the table. 

I finished jotting down their orders and began repeating them back. “One 12 ounce Ribeye with mashed potatoes, a double crunched shrimp,” I said, facing each of the adults as I called out their entree’. “Steakhouse burger with onion rings instead of fries, a fire pit burger, sizzling steak fajitas with guacamole, a honey barbecue chicken sandwich, and fish and chips? Did I get everyone?”

“Did you get my paradise chicken salad?” asked the brunette.

I looked down my list. “No, I did not. Thanks for catching that. Is that all? Did I miss anyone else?”

“I said no tomato on my honey barbecue chicken sandwich.” Said the guy over on the far end. 

I looked at my notes again, man it was getting late. “Yes, I got that. Sorry I forgot to say it. Ok, all good then? I’m going to go ring these up. Does anyone want a glass of water?” I waited for an answer but only silence hit my ears. I then turned to enter the orders into the POS and glanced over to see Lindsay wiping down her cracks throughly. I made a note on my tablet that she was all good. 

After ringing up the orders I went back to check on my man doing the crossword. He’d managed to figure out just one more clue. “Would you like some more coffee?” I asked him.

“Yes please.” He said. 

I ran back to the counter to fetch the coffee pot and brought it out to refill his coffee. He had just finished drinking what I had last given him when I got back to the table. “How’s the soup?”

“Good. Can I get an extra slice of bread?”

“Sure, I’ll be right back with it.” When I got to the expo line I called back to the cook line. “I need a piece of bread for soup.” I told the guys behind the counter. 

“Ticket?”

“No ticket, the guy just got his soup without bread. Just give me a slice.” I lied.

“No ticket no bread.” The cook replied back to me in a heavy spanish accent.

I sighed and grabbed a trouble ticket. I figured I’d hand it over to the cooks then toss it in the trash. I was not going to nickel and dime this guy when all he wanted was a piece of bread. I filled out the time, ticket number, and item missing, and then tossed the trouble ticket up on the counter. “Bread please!” I yelled as I tossed the ticket to him.

“Marti. This soup was ran fifteen minutes ago, and I know I put bread on the plate.”

“No you didn’t Martin, just get me the freaking bread.” 

Martin finally sighed and handed over a plate with a single piece of bread on it.

“Thanks.” I said, grabbing the trouble ticket back and promptly disposing of it. I then took the plate and brought it over to the crossword guy. “Here.”

“Thanks.” He said, taking it away from me. “I’ll go ahead and take my check now.” He told me. 

“Sure, no problem.” I had rung up the check when I had brought his soup out, so I had it in my apron and ready to give to him. “Here you go,” I said handing it over, “If you need anything else at all please let me know.”
“You know what fish is also called a Jerusalem haddock? Four letters?”

“Sorry, only fish I know of is clownfish, catfish, carp and tuna.” I said. “Oh! And flying fish! I’ve always liked the concept of flying fish since I heard about them. Did you know the romanian word for carp is crap? A friend of mine went on a mission trip to Romania and told me that a while ago.”

“Huh. That is kind of interesting. Romania near Jerusalem?”

“Nope. Wrong sea. Romania is bordered by the Black Sea, not the Mediterranean.”

“Huh. Then I doubt if crappy carp is the answer anyways.”

“Sorry. But that’s the extent of my awesome fish trivia.” 

The guy grunted and went back to searching the crossword. I seriously considered telling him he might do better if he bought a book of crosswords with increasing levels of difficulty instead of doing whatever the newspaper printed. But, I didn’t. 

“Marti! Your food is up!” I heard Scott yell at me. “You need help taking this out?” he asked when I came to retrieve the tray. 

“Yea, that would be good.” I said. 

“Lindsay, help Marti take this to 52.” Scott said, taking Lindsay away from her washing down of the check books. 

Together Lindsay and I delivered all of the food out to my party of 8, who at this point had mostly finished their drinks. I gave Lindsay my empty tray and stayed at the table while she went back to complete her side work. “Everything look ok?”

“Yea, can I get a strawberry shake and a water?” said the brunette.” 

“Oh! Get me a chocolate shake!” Her friend exclaimed. “That sounds delicious.”

“I’ll take a mango one.” Said one of the two girls sitting at the far end. 

“And an Oreo cookie one for me.” The final girl said, finishing up her Hurricane.”

“Also, get me and him,” one of the guys said pointing to the guy sitting catty-corner to him, “another Sam Adams.” 

“Ok, that’s two Sam Adams and one each of  Oreo, mango, chocolate, and strawberry shake?” The table nodded their heads at me.  “Ok, I’ll be right back with those.” I said, heading over to the bar and praying that the bartender hadn’t started packing up for the night. It wouldn’t make a difference. The guests would be able to ask for anything they wanted until the last of them left the restaurant, but bartenders and cooks started to get fussy when they’d put away something and had to get it back out. Luckily,  Brandy wasn’t putting anything away, just cleaning up the messes behind the counter. “I need four shakes and 2 Sam Adams.” I told her as I was keying in the order. 

“Aren’t you busy tonight?”

“About time.” 

“Ok, I’ll get those right up,” she said taking the ticket print out from the machine that I had just sent over to her. 

While she did that I checked on my one top. “Sorry I havn’t had a chance to make it over here.” I said as I got to the table. Would you like a drink refill?”

“Yes please, can I get them to go?” asked the wife.

“Sure. I’ll have those right out with your check. 

“Also, we wanted a side of ranch for the chicken. One of your co-workers said they’d take care of it and never did.” Said the dad.

I cursed mentally. I had no idea how long this table had been waiting for the ranch, but the idea of one of my teammates saying they’d take care of it and not doing so irked me. “Sure, I’ll go get that right now.” I smiled at the father. “I’m sorry about not having it here sooner.”

“Well unless he told you it’s not really your fault.” Said the dad.

As I left that table to get drink refills to go and a side of ranch I smiled to myself, there were still understanding people out there somewhere. I returned to the table, passed out the drinks and check with the side of ranch, and then went to collect my drinks for the party of eight. After running those drinks out to the table I went and collected the check from the guy doing the crossword. 

“All ready then?” I asked him, picking up the check. 

“Yes, I think so. Thank you, the soup was delicious.”

“I’l give your regards to the chef.” I said, even though we didn’t really have  chef. We had a line of cooks, but I can tell my manager that one of the customers really enjoyed the soup. They liked to hear positive feedback. “Just give me a minute to run this.” I said, turning to the POS behind the front counter.

“Marti! I need my tables checked.” Kelly said as I was running the credit card. 

“Well give me a minute. What section did you have tonight?” 

“The twenties.” 

“Ok, go make sure you’ve got the crumbs out of the crack and I’ll be over there in a few."

“I need my tables checked too.” Tasha said when I turned to take the receipts to the man. 

“Tables?” 

“I had 60-65.” 

“Do the same as I told Kelly and I’ll be over after I’ve checked hers over.” I said, leaving the front counter and hollering back to whoever was doing dishes to drop in some more silverware. I then told Lindsay to go sort the silverware that I had dropped probably about half an hour ago. It was as I was headed out to the guy with the crossword that I noticed that I was actually feeling really, really good. Not at all tired. Which was saying something as busy as I had been throughout the night.”

“Here’s your receipt.” I said to the man as I returned his card to him. “Just sign the top copy and the bottom is yours to keep. Have a great night Sir and come back soon.” I said, turning to start what was no doubt going to be a run of table checks. After that, I went to check up on my table of eight.

“Get me and that guy” one of the two guys who still had their Sam Adams the last time I checked on the table said ‘another Sam Adams then you can run our check. No hurry on the check though.” The guy said. I went and did as he asked. When I delivered their check, a total of a near 200 dollar meal the guy next to the table let out a low whistle. 

“I need thirty one dollars from each of you.” The guy next to the brunette said, 62 if you are paying as a couple. I heard a bunch of groans from the table as I turned to get the check from my four top. I could also hear a bunch of “Please cover this for me, I’ll pay you back. I only brought forty dollars with me.” I hoped they could all figure it out. 

I ran the check for the four top easily enough, wishing them a good night and returning to my checker’s duty with checking the tables for four other servers, as well as making sure that Kelly had restocked the POS stations and the area behind the front counter.  “Ok,” I said as I checked behind the counter. “Seventy-five silverware folded and I’ll get you out of here.” I told her. 

“Marti!” Lindsay called over to me from the POS by the door. “I think this is yours.” She said, handing me a note that had been stuffed into the check book she was currently cleaning out. 

I walked over and took the note.

Marti-Dear, 
Thank you so much for a wonderful evening. NormaJean 
really enjoyed her birthday, and let me tell you, after having 
ninety-four of them it’s hard to find something new and 
enjoyable to do. You seemed to be on the edge while serving 
us, and it’s not really any of our business as to what was 
bothering you. However, I think you’ll find that so long 
as you keep at least one of the hundred dollar bills we gave you, 
you will be just fine. I know you probably will send it off to the bank,
and please do. I hope you find the money very helpful, but hopefully 
the effect of the money will at least keep you sane for tonight. You might 
see about getting to a doctor. This money should cover a visit I think. Next
time we visit, we’ll be sure to ask to have you be our server. It was a very 
         delightful experience. Thanks again,
Mira Geest.
“Thanks Lindsay. You almost done?” I said, pocketing the note with the money. 

“Almost, I just have to get the check books from that POS and then you can check my side work.”

“Ok, come get me when you are ready.” I said. And then I allowed myself to ponder the note. I had felt pretty good after the three of them left. Maybe the amount of money they gave me was having an effect on my mood. I made sure no one was looking and took out the three crisp hundred dollar bills out of my baggy. I looked them over, each in turn. Other than appearing to have just come from the bank off of the money press, there was nothing significant about the money. Other than it’s value of course. I put the money away and thought that maybe it was the old ladies’ equivalent to a good luck charm. Maybe they were all deeply religious and prayed some sort of protection on the three bills. Whatever they thought, I needed the money in the bank, and that’s exactly where it was going to go when I got off of work. 

I went over to my last table, the eight-top and collected up the check book. I was told by the guy with the brunette to just charge the full amount to his visa. To his friends he muttered, “You all owe me.”

I rung up the check and ran it back over to the table. “Here you go, Sir. Top copy needs sign, bottom is yours to do with as you will.”

He took my pen and signed the receipt handing me it and a stack of bills. “That’s your tip. Thanks for a great night.”

The stack was full of tens except for one twenty. It looked like everyone chipped in ten dollars. That meant 80 dollars for me, well, seventy-four after tip out, but that wasn’t so bad. Pocketing the money I went back to checking tables until my eight top had left. 

“Marti, all the silverware is done.” 

Now where have I heard that one before? “Are you sure? Is there some to sort in the back?”

“I don’t think so.” Kelly replied.

I walked back to the back where, sure enough, there were three trays full of silverware waiting to be sorted. “Come on,” I said grabbing Lindsay and Kelly and pulling them into the back to sort silverware with me. It took us about five minutes to get all of the silverware sorted and on it’s final washing. “Nobody leaves without doing seventy-five pairs of silverware first.” I said. “The silverware will be out in five minutes. Who else needs their tables checked?”

A few of the servers said they were ready, and most of them were in fact. I took their receipts saying they’d get it back signed when they finished their silverware. A common mistake that is made by checkers is singing the receipt saying that the side work is complete, and then expecting the servers to wait around for the silverware. That’s almost always how two or three unlucky souls get stuck doing the silverware all on their own. My solutions is to take the server’s check out receipt, sign it so that I know they have been checked by me, and hold on to the receipt until the silverware has been turned in, that way nobody sneaks under my radar and leaves the rest of us to d all the dirty work. 

When the silverware came out most of the guests had gone home. It was ten o clock so the doors were locked and all of the servers moved the silverware to a table to fold. 

Well, all of the servers besides Sean, myself, and Janice. We were closing and so we went to work on cleaning up our messes. I took a bucket out to my middle table where the party of eight had been seated and  piled all the dishes from that table and my last four top into the bucket. I also went ahead and ran my check out receipt,  and went over to Jason to turn in my tips. 

“Ok Marti, I’ll need two hundred dollars from you tonight.” Jason said after looking at my totals. “You did pretty good tonight.”

“Yea, I did. And I don’t feel the faintest bit tired or dizzy or anything like that.” I said, grinning. I handed over one of my hundred dollar bills and five twenties. “There you go.”

“Great, now let’s get this ball rolling and get out of here before midnight. Think it’s doable?”

“Totally. We’ve got the other servers helping with the side work, and Sean and Janice and I can get the place closed up easily.”

“You know tonight is booth night, right?”

“Crap. No, I forgot. Don’t worry, we’ll get it taken care of.” I said, pocketing my tips and heading to find Sean. He was, of course, smoking out back near the trash disposer. “We need you in there. You know, closing down. It’s booth night and we want to be out before midnight. I’m sure you can appreciate that.”

“Yea, I suppose I can.” Sean said, stamping out his cigarette and re-entering the restaurant.

It was  after Sean had went back inside that I realized that for the first time in my life I hadn’t coughed at the mere exposure of smoke. Actually, I hadn’t even smelt it. I breathed in another breath of fresh night air before re-entering the restaurant myself. “Do any tables still have silverware sitting out that needs washing besides mine?” I asked the group of servers at large. Most of them had been checked off for tables, so that really only left the tables that were taken after the rest of the team got cut. “Yea, I’m brining mine back now.” Janice said. 

Sean shrugged. My tables have been clear for fifteen minutes. So I guess I don’t have any. 

“Ok, bring yours back Janice and we’ll throw all the silverware into the dishwasher.  Sean, start pulling all the booths apart. “

“Man, I hate booth day.”

“We’re going to help you clean them out, you are just better at pulling them out of their places than we are.”

“Ok, I’ll get the booths.” Sean said, heading to the front of the store and pulling all the booths out of their seats. 

Meanwhile, Both Janice and I dropped our tables’ dishes off at the dishwasher and put the silverware in to be washed. I the went out to get my tables re-stocked for the morning. The middle table where the party of eight had been had used all of the ketchup, salt and pepper. I refilled all three and wiped the tables and chairs down. I also cleaned off the table linker and carried it to the back. When I came back out onto the floor from there, most Lindsay and Kelly had completed their seventy-five pairs of silverware. I gave their receipts back to them and wished them a good night. The other servers were still hard at work folding silverware. 

I closed down the one beverage station that we had kept open for the closers to use after the others were shut down, putting the spigots into soda water to soak while the backboard and ice grid and catcher got washed in the dishwasher. Then, I went to join Sean in taking apart the restaurant’s booths. Janice followed not far behind carrying the Dyson vacuum that  all the servers had chipped in on so that we didn’t have to keep vacuuming with a different Shark once or twice a week. The Dyson cost each of us about 15 well-spent dollars. Janice dropped the Dyson off and went back to the back to retrieve some cleaning rags, a broom, and a dustpan. 

As Sean made his way around the restaurant taking booths apart, Janice and I swept the areas inside the booths, coming up with a dollar and seventy-five cents in change that we split coin by coin between ourselves, and vacuuming the  carpet around the open floor of the restaurant.  Janice stepped into the booths and brushed all the debris together and onto the dustpan, then put it on the carpet so I could vacuum it up. Then, while I vacuumed the surrounding area, she put the booths back together, making sure to wipe any remaining crumbs off of the seat. We then moved our little team on down the row.

When Sean said he was done with the booths I sent him on to get the silverware that we were responsible for. Then I told him to clean the trays and the tray holders out and set the trays up on the counter  by the kitchen. 
Janice and I made good time, not including the occasional interruption I got whenever another server was ready to check out. By the time Janice and I got done with the last booth and got it put back together, all the other servers had left and it looked like we didn’t have much more to do ourselves. 

“I’ll go get the stuff for the beverage station from the dishwasher. You get the silverware.” Janice told me after pushing the last booth into place. 

“Ok.” I said, heading back to retrieve the last container full of unrolled silverware, I then went to the same table that the other servers had been at and began folding silverware. 

“Janice says we’re about done?” Sean said, coming up from behind me. 

“Yea, now help me fold this so we can get out of here. Janice will be over as soon as the beverage station is put back together again.”

“You know, you’d make a good manger.” Sean said. “You’re always bossing the rest of us around. Though, I gotta admit that you do get the jobs done.”

“I just pass on orders as they come up. I couldn’t take all the paperwork that comes with the position. I’d much rather stay on tips and be one of the top underlings. Besides, I wouldn’t be so bossy if you would do what you are supposed to do without being asked.” I said. 

“Did you have a good night? I haven’t seen you on your feet so much in quite some time. You were all lethargic last night.”

“Yea, I had a great day. And I don’t know what was wrong with me last night. I just got a huge dizzy spell. Probably a result of not eating before I came in to work.”

“That was dumb.”

“Maybe. I just was’t hungry.” I said, sighing. “How was your night?”

“Average. Well, you know, as average as a night when the restaurant gets ambushed by a bunch of teens shooting Nerf guns can be.”

I laughed at that. There wasn’t really ever anything truly normal about our job. Each day had it’s own oddities, but this week seemed to be odder than usual.

“You owe me for taking that four top for you. Seriously, right as I was getting their drink orders I was seated with an eight top.”

“Which I’m sure tipped you well and you handled with all the grace and poise you are known for.”

“Actually, it wasn’t a disaster. Mainly cause the entire table drank some form of alcohol or another. Still, you owe me.” 

“Thought you were happily married. Is the honeymoon phase over already?” 

“Not like that.”

“Did you decide to join the rest of us after work in the park?”

“No, I don’t want any weed either. Gosh. I just want you to take a shift for me.”

“What shift?” 

“I dunno… I’ll let you know when I do. I need to make a doctor’s appointment.”

“For what?” Janice said, joining us at the table and blowing a bubble with her bubble gum. 
“I just haven’t been feeling too great the last week or so. One of my customers today tipped me extra and said that I should go. So I figured I should, while I still have the money.”

“Not a bad idea.” Janice said, grabbing another napkin to fold silverware in. 

“Yea. But I don’t feel so bad now."