YAYAY!! (ok, that was unprofessional.) *does happy dance*
And now, on with the story.
Stuck in Estrogen's Funhouse
Bad Business
I kept folding silverware, still watching the three with fascination. At least, I did until one of my two-tops was seated. He was a young business guy with his client. I know that because he carried a briefcase, which he opened as soon as he sat down, taking out a laptop and turning it to face the other guy. He was an older businessman, with no hair on the top of his head. They were both dressed in black suits.
“Welcome to Applebee’s.” I said, smiling as I greeted the two men. “My name is Marti and I’ll be your server today. Can I get you gentleman some barbeque wings?”
“Yes please.” Said the younger man with the laptop.
“Ok, and how about drinks?”
“I’ll take a tea.” Said the older man.
“And a tea for me as well please.” Said the younger.
“Two ice teas and some barbecue wings?”
“Correct.”
“Ok, I’ll be right back with those.” I said, leaving the table and going to ring in the drnks and wings. I noticed, as I passed by that the elderly ladies’s drinks were getting low, so while I was at the POS station, I placed a refill order to the bar, as well as a birthday sunday.
“Here’s some refills for you ladies. Can I take your old cups and get them out of the way for you?”
“Here you go dear.” Said the lady with the strawberry Fizzer. I took the cups and headed back to the dishwasher to drop them off.
“Marti! Your food is up!” The expo guy called as I just finished washing my hands.
“Right here.” I said, taking the tray from him. I returned to the ladies with their food. “Ok, Shrimp Diavolo?” I asked, looking to the birthday lady questionably.
“That’ll be for me!” she said, taking the dish from my hand. Ohhh, that looks good.” She exclaimed, drawing out the oh for about three seconds. “Can you get me a water, I might need it if these are as spicy as they claim.”
“Yes ma’am. I’ll get that after I drop off this food.”
“Baby back ribs for you.” I said, more confident in my memory. Not like I needed my memory to tell me she ordered. She was a very memorable person.
“Yum! That looks delicious!” She exclaimed. “Put those babies right here.”She said, hitting the spot of the table in front of her alternating which hand was on the table and which was off. I did as she told me.
“So this Sizzling Asian Shrimp goes to you then.” I said, handing the last of the dishes off to the lady with the Strawberry Fizzer. I then took the tray back to the expo line and grabbed a glass to fill with ice and water. I then took that back to the old ladies, carrying the wings that my other table ordered next to it.
“Here’s your water.” I handed it to NormaJean and then walked over to the business table. “And I have some barbecue wings.” I said, setting the wings down in between the men in front of the computer and giving them each a small plate.
“Thank you.” The younger guy said.
“No problem. Are you gentlemen ready to order?”
“I think so.” The older guy said, nodding to his younger partner. “I’ll take the 12 ounce New York Strip.”
“Would you like mashed potatoes with that or a baked potato.” I hated when customers ordered the steaks. It was a high-ticket item for Applebee’s, true, but at the same time it meant I had to asked if they wanted mashed potatoes or a baked potato. I’ve tried to make that question as fluid as I could. It’s not like the choice between fries or onion rings. Both of those are plural. But ‘Do you want your potato mashed or baked?’ sounds weird because it sounds like if you choose mashed than the cook is going to take a single potato and mash it. The mashed potatoes was a side dish, the baked potato was a different side dish. There was no elegant way of presenting the two options.
“And I’ll take Crispy orange chicken without almonds.” The younger man said. I took both of their menus and headed to key in their order. When I had that done I checked in with the older ladies.
“How’s everything.”
“It’s all very good dear.” Said the strawberry fizzer lady.
“Are you enjoying those ribs?” I asked the enthusiastic one.
“Heck yes I am. These here are some gorgeous ribs. Nice and tender.” She said, attacking the ribs once more. She had already ate most of her ribs. “In fact, I think you best be orderin’ up me another half rack.” She said, laughing gleefully.
“I’ll get that in right away.” I said. I didn’t suspect that she would be able to eat another half rack of ribs, but it would push the check up by another 11 dollars. There is a reason that deserts are always around five dollars, it’s because not many people will order anything more than that after having consumed a full entree.
When I was at the POS station, entering the extra ribs, I also placed in an order for a birthday ice cream. I decided, instead of going back to silverware folding, to satisfy my mind by talking to the old ladies, assuming they wouldn’t get annoyed at me for it.
“I hope you don’t mind my asking,” I said after one of them saw me approaching the table. “But how do you all know each other? I was watching from the back counter and it looked like you’ve known each other a long while.”
“Well NormaJean’s known me for about seventy-six years.” Offered the lady with the Strawberry Fizzer.
“And how old are you now?” I asked, amazed that she knew the year that precisely.
“Seventy-six. I know, I look a bit older. But I’m the youngest one here, oddly enough.”
“She is the baby.” NormaJean said fondly. “My little baby sister.” She huffed in amusement.
“You’d think she’d quit calling me that once we were both on social security.”
“Sorry Mira, I told you when you graduated, you’ll always be my baby sissy.” Laughed NormaJean. “I just can’t stop calling you my baby sister when I used to change your diaper. No matter how old you are.”
“And you’re a sister too?” I asked, tuning to the enthusiastic one.”
“Nope, fraid not. Always wanted to be though. They have one cool-ass momma.”
I blinked. “Have?”
“Had.” The older lady corrected herself. “They had a cool-ass momma.”
“So, how do you come into the picture?” I asked the enthusiastic one after a few seconds pause. It could have been a mistake. She could have been so in the moment that she forgot that their mother had died a while ago. But something about it rubbed me the wring way.
“I’ve been NormaJean’s best friend since she was in high school. She done gone and saved my poor pathetic life. I was in kindergarden at the time. My daddy wasn’t so nice. If I messed up my writing he’d knock me upside the head. My momma died giving birth to my sister, who was born stillborn when I was five, so I don’t member much of her. Daddy expected me to be good in everything, and the teacher didn’t allow me to write with my lefthand, ya see?” I’m a southpaw by nature but that was frowned upon. When she saw me writing with my left hand she’d take a big ol’ metal ruler and snap my poor fingers with it. Making it darn near impossible to write. That’s when I met NormaJean.”
“She was being courted by the nice young arts teacher and came to the primary school near everyday. I would be sitting outside, doing my homework with my left hand scorching from being hit, and my right hand all messy like. Daddy didn’t much care what happened at school, just that I do the work and it looked good. So NormaJean saw me struggling trying to write with my fingers all bullied up and she ask me what I was supposed to be writin. Well I tells her that my daddy won’t like my right-hand writing as it was too messy, and teacher don’t let me write with my left hand. She says to me, that if I do the work in class with my right hand, then she’ll copy it for me to make it look nice for my daddy.”
“An so that’s what we did. I did the work in class with my sloppy un-controlled right hand, then she’d turn it into pretty writing for me to take home to daddy. Ended up doing all my schoolwork at her momma’s house so she could copy it for me until my hand healed, at which point I had to become my own copier. But that was ok, cause once my left hand was restored, I had real nice left handed writing. But by the time that happened, NormaJean had kinda adopted me as her kid-sister. Been that close ever since.”
“Wow.” I said. “That really sucks.”
“That’s the way it was. It didn’t suck cause I knew no better. But NormaJean here changed my life. When I started growing up, she became my mentor. She was the first I told when I got me my first beau. And she helped me learn how to heal a broken heart. I don’t know what I’d do without her.” The enthusiastic old lady said.
“Well it’s good she was there for you.”
“Yup. I’m one lucky old sucker. Heaven knows I do her no good.”
“Now Annie, that ain’t true.” Said NormaJean.
“Well, I better get back to my job. I just saw you all over here interacting and I just had to know.” I said, checking in on the business partners.
They were ensnared in a powerpoint that the younger man was showing the elder. Someone else had delivered their food, presumably when Annie was telling her story. I felt sorry for her. Her dad wasn’t a very good dad, or at least he hadn’t been… I thought, catching myself. My mental slip reminded me of the slip that Annie had made, saying that the two sisters have a great mom as opposed to had. I had gotten so involved with Annie’s tale of how NormaJean saved her I forgot about the weird feeling I had about that slip up. “Is everything good here?” I asked the businessmen when they looked up from the powerpoint.
“Actually, no.” Said the younger guy. “This has almonds in it. I can’t eat almonds as I’m allergic to them.” He said, passing me the uneaten orange chicken.
“I’m sorry about that sir.” I said, my mind snapping away from the old ladies. “I’ll get that fixed right away.” I took the dish and headed to the expo line. “This is supposed to be almondless.” I told the expo guy.
“Huh?”
“This.” I said, waving it in front of him. “It’s not supposed to have almonds in it.”
“Yes it is, that’s a sizzling entree. The menu even says so.”
“Actually it’s Crispy Orange Chicken. Not a sizzling entree. But, yea, I know the menu says that, but I ordered it without almonds. The guy is allergic.”
“Damn it Marti. What table?”
“Hey, I didn’t do anything. Table 7.”
“That went out ages ago. Crap.” He said, pulling over the tickets for the food that had already gone out and shuffling through them.
“Well you’re off the hook.” He muttered to me. “Write up a ticket.” I did so as he hollered to the back, “I need a Crispy Orange Chicken, no almonds. That’s sans almonds to most of ya.” To me he said, “Tell your table the back of the house screwed up and it’ll be out in five minutes time.”
“Yea, I know the drill.” I sighed, heading back to the table. On my way back I saw my last table being seated.
As I walked away I heard the expo guy yelling to the cooking line. “Are you working on that orange chicken? Don’t forget sans almonds!”
“I’m sorry about that Sir.” I said, addressing the younger gentleman. “I’ve been told to tell you that it’s not my fault and we are sorry the order was messed up. They are making you a new plate now and it should be out within five minutes, without almonds.”
“Good. They can bring it in a to-go container. Our meeting time is almost over.”
“Yes Sir.” I said, heading over to the new table.
Healthy Eaters
“Welcome to Applebee’s. My name is Marti.” I said, as I laid out the coasters on the table. “Can I get you both a stack of onion rings?”
Healthy Eaters
“Welcome to Applebee’s. My name is Marti.” I said, as I laid out the coasters on the table. “Can I get you both a stack of onion rings?”
“Is that made in corn oil or peanut oil?” Asked the woman who looked like she’d been cut out of ice. Everything about her was angular. Her jaw, her haircut, her shoulders and her nose.
“Um…” I said, faltering. “I’m not, sure. I can go check. Do you know what you want to drink?”
“I’ll have a pomegranate lemonade.” Said the woman.
“Coors lite for me.” Said her husband.
“ID please?” I asked, he flashed it and I nodded. “Ok. One Pomegranate Lemonaid and one Coors Lite coming right up. I’ll check on the grease.” I said.
I went to the POS by the expo line. “Hey that redo, the orange chicken from table 7, he wants it to-go. Better send Sage over there if you see her.
“Sage ain’t working tonight. Jason is manager tonight.”
“Then send Jason. I haven’t seen a manager all night.” I said as I finished keying in the drinks. “You know what kind of oil we use for the onion rings?”
“Is this a test?”
“Customer wants to know, Steve.”
“Peanut oil.” He said offhandedly.
“Thanks.” I said, grabbing the tea pitcher and taking it to refill the businessmen’s cups.
“My food done yet?”
“Not that I’m aware of, my manager Jason should be bringing it out to you.”
“I don’t care who brings it out. Just get it here. We need to go.”
“I’ll go check on it Sir.”I said, taking the tea over to the bar to get the drinks for my latest table.
“Here’s your Coors Lite, and your Pomegranate Lemonade.” I said, handing them out. “And we use peanut oil.
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