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WAITRESSING
The school bell signals
the swarm of prep school kids
over to Cliff's Pizza,
to demand all at once
1,000 orders of garlic bread
with 1,000 cokes,
a total order of about $20,
and a tip of exactly zip.
Out of breath,
I wearily walk up the stairs
for the 999th time that day,
the fluid in my knees making them stiff and swollen and sore.
My shoes are too tight,
sneakers not being a fashionable alternative
to go with my uniform.
My arches are about to fall
and my toes cringe and cramp with each additional step.
I have worn this same outfit all week,
a Kelly green, pajama-like belted uniform
covered in pizza sauce
and smelling like it's the only one I can afford
and I never have time to wash it
because I'm always working.
Finally the last teenaged excuse for a customer leaves,
and I clear tables of garlic bread soaked in coke
and plates with cigarette butts extinguished on them.
but my day is not over yet.
The dinner crowd arrives
and I deliver a meal to a couple
that has waited forever for this Mousakka.
It flies over the table and into the fountain
and my face flushes.
There goes my only hope of a tip.
Now down to the cellar
to stock up on more pizza boxes.
My back catches on the half door
coming up the stairs
and I can feel the scab that was already there
start to bleed.
copyright Susan "Sam" Madden
http://www.fortunecity.co.uk/meltingpot/clyde/207/
