Waiter

My friends and I wanted to be awesome and have lunch together so today we went and we lunched. Erika wore a chunky red scarf that she had knitted in high school that narrowed from one end to the other and had several holes in it where she’d dropped a stitch — details I would never have picked up on except she pulled that scarf off and showed us. We all wore scarves actually, it’s been raining all week. Sacha’s infinity scarf trumped my scarf* from high school, because wearing your uniform after you’ve graduated probably isn’t that cool.

I’d driven to the cafe myself, enduring the rain and pulling off a mighty car maneuver past a truck that was blocking my neighbour’s driveway and the entire left lane.

Before I’d even sat down, the waiter came up and welcomed me, as if he’d been preparing for our party of three to convene. He was a lovely waiter, confident and friendly, but he was also the kind that just appears mid-conversation and tries to join seamlessly into the discussion.

“Don’t forget to go to the bank!” I heard from behind my right shoulder. We all glanced confusedly at each other for a moment while we tried to figure out what this guy was talking about. I thought maybe before I’d arrived they’d had a discussion about it. Nope. Erika had to go to the bank, and he’d gathered this information by reading the reminder on her hand.

Then he asked us if we were ready to order. “You must have the mac n’ cheese,” he said. “It’s more of a demand than a recommendation.”

So Erika did and she could only finish half before falling into a “cheese coma.”

When forced to make a decision about my coffee order, I panicked, because he was staring at me expectantly with patient waiter-eyes and I was afraid that the longer I waited the blanker my mind would get (this often happens to me). To be fair, he sensed my hesitation and said, “You don’t have to get anything,” but that just made me realise that I must get something.

*I’ve typed ‘scarf” too many times and now the word looks all peculiar.

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