A Witless Waiter

“Ok. Are you sure you have the plan memorized?” I asked Fence for the fourth time that minute. We were back in the kitchen, gameplanning. I’d decided to make a tactical retreat back here, for the time being, to come up with a course of action. Luckily I had a few minutes to breathe as Replica and Don looked at the menus.

“Aye aye, bro,” he said with a mock salute.

“Then repeat the first step.”

“Dude? You don’t trust me?”

“Just so we’re on the same page.”

“Look. Bro. Don’t worry. I got this. Ok? I got it. What could possibly go wrong?”

The laid-back smirk he was wearing was telling me: “a lot.”

“Alright,” I said. “Just make sure you stick to the script.”

“Dude, relax. When was the last time I deviated from script?”

“Last week at the school play.”

“Oh. Yeah, ok, fair point. But that was then and this is now.”

“God, I hope so.”

That was when Lou showed up with the soups — the appetizers for Replica and Don. He’d been cooking them over on the stove. I had to hand it to him: he and the other cooks had really stepped up their game. In just a week, they’d gone from hardly knowing the difference between an egg and eggplant to being able to cook soups that didn’t make you want to throw up after a single whiff.

Hence: I sniffed. “Nice job, Lou. Your soup doesn’t smell like raw sewage for once.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, shoving the shallow ceramic bowls into my arms. “My compliments to the chef.” He hiked a thumb over his shoulder to a couple of empty cans sitting on the edge of the counter behind him, tin lids dangling off the tops.

“Oh.”

“Oh is right. Anyway, this should cover your sister’s side of things. Making sure she has a normal first date and all. But what about the inspector? You guys come up with a plan to make him laugh? You know, the part of the this that's actually gonna save our jobs?”

“Oh, we came up with one alright, heh,” Fence answered.

“Who’s we? I was the one who planned it all out.” Then I got on my tiptoes and whispered the plan in Lou’s ear.

“Wow, that sounds like the worst plan I’ve ever heard. But I mean, hey, good luck. You guys are gonna need it.”

“Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“Gee, thanks for filching my facial hair.”

“Are you still sore about that?”

“What does it look like?” He clenched his teeth, drawing attention to his red, raw upper lip.

“Ok. Point taken. Anyway, the soup’s getting cold. Time for me to get out there. Remember the cue, Fence.”

“You got it, dude.”

“I sure hope you’re right. Sure hope these palms still got what it takes to pull this off.” For just a second, I studied the lines and grooves on my hands, which, lucky for me, weren’t nearly as sweaty as Al’s had been. The stunt I was about to attempt — hairbrained as it may have been — required the precise right ratio of hand lubrication to pull off. Any more and all I could hope to create was a slippery mess. Any less, and the best I could expect was the chafing of a lifetime.

And then, I was off. Off to meet my destiny. Whether it was failure — the likely scenario, given my track record — or success all depended on me. Mostly, anyway. More worryingly, it partly depended on Fence.

#

At the table, romance was in bloom. “And so are Comedy and Tragedy,” Don explained, pulling two more flowers, an elegant blue violet and a pert yellow daffodil, out of his polka-dotted sleeve and adding them to the thin glass vase where the red rose, apparently named “Romance,” was already placed, chilling in a snug tube of water.

“Wow, Don,” my sister said, blinking slowly and batting her lashes, eyes fixed on her fast-food-chain-owning prize. “Naming flowers. You’re so sensitive.” Personally, I still wasn’t convinced she wasn’t just trying to prospect some gold here, if you know what I mean. I mean, really: what was so great about this clown? He even had on the same goofy rainbow wig he wore to school, though admittedly he did look like he had run some product through it.

“There’s more where that came from!” As Don whipped an entire garden out of sleeve, I had to wonder whether the names he had given them were, y’know, symbolic of anything. Comedy… Tragedy…

Sure hope I don’t end up being the object of either tonight, I thought.

But who was I kidding?

Nobody, that’s who.

“Ahem.” I cleared my throat for their attention. “The two soups of the day?”

“Ah, there they are,” Don said. “That would be us, thanks. Remind me what type of soup it is again?”

“Alphabet, sir.” As I set his bowl down, I wiggled it a little so as to displace the letters. New ones rose to the top, spelling: “YUM!” Don got a kick out of that and chuckled lightly — a good sign.

Simple as. Now comes the tricky part.

Apparently my sister wasn’t having it though. “Excuse you? Aren’t you going to spread out the napkins on our laps? Honestly, what kind of place is this? And don’t forget the flourish!” She pushed the soup bowl away from herself , then crossed her arms and puffed out her cheeks like a chipmunk. Most demanding chipmunk I’d ever seen.

“M-ma’am,” I said as calmly as I could, trying my best not to pop a vein, “we o-only have one $ on Yelp. The type of service you’re expecting is more typically associated with—”

“Don’t worry!” Don interrupted cheerfully. Thank god. “I can handle this. I’ve got napkins to spare. I’ve got napkins on top of napkins.”

And just like that, he started pulling a whole string of tied-together handkerchiefs from his sleeve. Most of them, I noticed, were already used.

“Oh, Don. You’re so romantic. Only our first date and you already want us to blow our noses with the same stiff, booger-encrusted squares of cloth. Consecutively!” The handkerchiefs were piling up into a mountain in Replica’s bowl, rehydrated snot soaking into the soup. She was looking at Don like she’d died and gone to heaven. Eyes welling up with tears, she daintily pinched one of the cloths by its corner and dabbed.

“Oh, for the love of—”

She slammed the table, eyes instantly drying out, training on me, and turning to daggers. Trance: broken. “Did you say something, waiter?”

“Who me? Nope.” I averted my gaze and started whistling. “Just ‘gag me with plastic spork’ is all.”

“What was that?!”

“Nothing, nothing.”

It was time to stop stalling and get on with it. Everything and everyone was in position. It was time to enact the plan.

To be continued!