Katie quietly spent her morning in a stall in the employee restroom doing the same things she did every morning. She silently put on the bright red skirt and monogrammed blouse which was her uniform. She carefully slipped into the pink stockings and laced up her favorite pair of “necessarily cute” little shoes. She took extra care to double-knot them, lest they come untied at an inopportune moment on the job. She checked her apron for stains despite having washed it just last night and reflected how it probably should have been ironed before her shift. Unable to correct the problem, she put it on and laced it behind herself with the expert dexterity of someone used to not having help with the task. Finally, she slipped off the wedding ring, which had once been her mother’s, and slid it around a simple chain to wear around her neck.
Exiting the stall, she checked her hair and teeth in the profanity-smeared mirror. (She didn’t know who Charlie was, but in seven years of working here since high school she’d never once felt the desire to “call him for a good time”.) She donned her regulation lipstick, secured her dilapidated hairnet, and practiced her smile. Her manager had informed her she needed more practice as of late.
Katie exited the bathroom and surveyed the tiny diner. It had a few dozen tables with leather-upholstered booths meant to look retro. The hostess stand was by the door next to the “please wait to be seated” sign, which was nothing more than a dry-erase board taped to a pole. The kitchen was near the front of the establishment where the registers were, and the bathrooms were in the back. A meager salad bar was available in the center of the room—strictly to be used only if you got a meal that came with it. Finally, Katie’s little section of tables was all the way in the back corner, as far as it could be from the kitchen. She silently hoped she wouldn’t have to carry too many heavy trays today.
The diner opened in five minutes. She put on her smile and went to work.
“Hello! And welcome to Fiche’s Diner,” Katie began with her first customer of the day. “My name is Katie and I’ll be your server. Can I start you off with something to drink?”
“Yeah, just make it milk.”
“Yes, sir.” She nodded and walked away. She came back a few minutes later. “Here you are, sir.” She set the glass down on the table.
“About time. With no one else in here this early, you’d think I’d get better service.”
She shook her head. “I’m very sorry sir. I had to open a—”
“That’s fine, that’s fine. Just get me, uh…couple of scrambled eggs and a pancake. No butter.”
“Alright, sir.” She picked up the menu—which he hadn’t even opened—and stowed it under her arm. “What
meat would you like with that?”
“Did you hear me order any meat?”
“Um, n-no, sir,” she hesitated. “We have a pancake and egg combo which comes with a side of meat. I just thought that would be closest to what you want—”
“That’s not what I said. All I want is a couple of eggs
and a pancake. Is that too hard to understand?”
“No, sir. My apologies, sir.”
“Then go.” He waved her off and turned his attention to his phone.
Later, once he was gone, she washed the table.
“Hello! And welcome to Fiche’s Diner. My name is
Katie and I’ll be taking care of you. Can I start you all off with something to drink?”
“We know what we want.”
“Oh, alright.” Katie quickly pulled out her notepad.
“I’ll have the bacon and eggs combo—eggs over easy— get the bacon well done. I want toast with that, and bring ketchup with the eggs, okay?”
“Yes, sir.” Katie looked to the next person in the booth.
“I want the ‘All-You-Can-Eat-Pancakes’ with a chocolate milk.”
“Oh, yeah, I want water with mine,” said the first man. “—and make the eggs sunny-side, not scrambled.”
Katie quickly scribbled down the adjustments. “And you, miss?”
“Yes, is the yogurt you have gluten free?”
Katie thought for a moment, “Um, I’m not sure, I’ll have to check on that for you.”
“Alright—never mind then. What about your pancake batter?”
“No, ma’am, I’m pretty sure that has gluten in it.” “Margret, just order something. You’re embarrassing me.”
“I will, Richard!” she yelled. “How many things on your salad bar are made with natural ingredients?”
Katie hesitated, “I think all of them. It is salad, ma’am.” The woman looked like she’d been slapped. “Are you being short with me?”
“No! No! I’m so sorry.” Katie realized the
misunderstanding. “I didn’t mean—”
“Actually, I think I’ll have my eggs over easy,” the first man interjected again. “And make the toast well done, not the bacon. Did I say that wrong?”
Katie snapped back to her notepad. “I’m so sorry, can you say that again, please?”
“Dad! You said over easy the first time!”
“Oh, alright—whatever. Just make them scrambled.” Katie scribbled it out again. “But would you rather have them—?”
“Just do it scrambled! Come on, let’s hurry this up.”
Later, once they were gone, she washed the table.
“Hello. Welcome to Fiche’s Diner. My name is Katie—”
“What?”
Katie cleared her throat. “I said, ‘Welcome. My name is Katie—’”
“Come again?”
“My name is Katie…!” she tried to say as loud as her timid voice would allow.
“Kathy?”
“—Katie…”
“Oh! Katie!”
“Yes, ma’am!” Katie was relieved. She tried to regain her composure. “What can I get you to drink?”
“A soda, please. And learn to speak up. No man wants a girl who can’t speak right.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Katie nodded and walked away.
Later, she washed the table.
“Welcome to Fiche’s Diner. My name is Katie and I’ll be taking care of you. Can I start you off with something to drink?”
“I’d like a Pepsi, please,” the man said simply.
“Yes, sir.” She wrote it down. Minutes later, she returned with the soft drink. “Have you decided what you’d like to have?”
He was still feverishly looking at the menu, “Yes, um… I was wondering where the fish was?”
Katie smiled tenderly. “I’m sorry, sir. We don’t serve
fish. It’s just the name of the diner: ‘Fiche’s!’ with an ‘e’.”
The man looked from her, to the menu, back to her. “No fish?”
She shook her head, “No, I’m sorry, that’s just—”
“But it’s in your name…”
She smiled weakly. “I’m sorry, sir, you see it’s really not—”
“Well that’s just fucking great! Can’t you ask the cook if he has any?”
Katie hesitated, “I…can’t sir, we don’t—”
“I drove all the way across town just to eat at this goddamned restaurant, and you don’t even have the one thing in your name!”
Other customers started staring.
“Sir, I’m so sorry, but I really can’t do anything to—”
“Fine! Bring me your manager. I want to talk to him about your attitude.”
Later, once he’d stormed out, she washed the table.
“Welcome to Fiche’s Diner. My name is Katie and I’ll be taking care of you. What can I get you to drink?” “Well, hi there,” the man wiped back his greasy hair.
“Hello.” Katie nodded.
“I gotta say, honey, you’re damn fine.”
Katie felt awkward. “Th-thank you, sir. What can I get you to drink?”
“How ‘bout a tall cup of you?” She could smell liquor on him.
“Sir, I believe you need to place an order or politely leave.” She attempted to open the menu for him.
He grabbed her wrist and didn’t let go. “Say, how about we go ‘round back. You can take my order there. Or maybe you can eat something instead.”
“Sir, you’re hurting me,” Katie said desperately.
“I wanna hurt you.” He grinned a green smile.
“Let me go. Please,” she begged.
He complied abruptly. “Don’t get upset, honey, I’m only playin’.”
“You’ll have the special. And a coffee,” she quickly walked away.
Later, with one wrist tightly bandaged, she washed the table.
“Ma’am!” Katie heard a voice call as she walked passed the table of her next customer.
“Yes, miss, how may I help you?” Katie stopped and asked.
“Look at this,” the woman pushed an untouched plate of food toward Katie. “I specifically asked for no onions in this. They upset my stomach. But look,” with a fork she dug into the dish and flipped out one piece of diced onion. She then threw down the silverware and sat back, defiantly.
“I’m sorry, ma’am. I will get you another one,” Katie said respectfully and moved to pick up the plate.
“No, not now.” The woman snatched back the plate from Katie. “I don’t want to wait on another one. I’ll eat this, and I’ll be sick later. Thank you for that.”
Once she had left, Katie washed the table.
At the end of her shift, Katie checked to ensure everything across her area was in neat shape. The condiment bottles were back in their racks on each table, the sugar packets and other trash was picked up off the floor, each menu was wiped clean of sauce drips or other food debris.
She finished her tasks and walked back into the kitchen to clock out.
“Hey! Katie!” her manager called for her on his way out the door. “Michelle called in sick again. I need you to cover her shift.”
Katie didn’t respond immediately.
“Is that a problem, Katie?” the manager asked gravely.
“Sir, it’s just that, I work the opening shift tomorrow too…”
He shrugged. “Looks like you’ll be up all night, then. Remember to give Michelle any tips you get from her tables. She needs the money. See you tomorrow!” He bounced out the door.
Katie nodded. She headed for her stall in the employee bathroom where she did the same thing she does every night: she cried.