Waiter - quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing
I knew the food was going to be expensive by the way the waiter looked down his nose at me and sneered when he spoke. Only in the most upper class restaurants did the waiters have an attitude like that. The eye of other patrons followed me as I was escorted to my table for one and I felt like a teenager who's trying to buy liquor, like I had no business being there. The waiter stood stiffly in his starched white shirt and black bow-tie as I perused the wine list. Eating here was going to cost me an arm and a leg, but I'd die a pauper before I let that waiter see that he had summed me up correctly. I ordered the most expensive glass of wine on the menu and gazed at him with an expression that I hope conveyed my utter nonchalance and ease with my refined surroundings.
Macy's description of the waiter had us in stitches. 'He looks like a penguin that's got a rotten smell under it's nose!' she squeaked a little too loudly.
The waitress stood with what looked like a mini touch screen computer ready to take our order. As we spoke she deftly tapped the screen to transmit the order straight to the kitchen, Then she beamed at us with the enthusiasm of someone new to the job and asked if she could get us any drinks.
The waiter took our order with all the efficiency of a toddler tying their laces with mittens on. He seemed to forget what we had told him before the words had even left our lips, so that we had to repeat everything so many times it was absurd. He had the air of a person in shock, someone who'd brain was lost somewhere else, struggling to deal with some unseen issue. When we asked him to describe a new item on the menu he took on the look of a startled rabbit and then spoke so fast that one word ran into the next. When he finished speaking we were none the wiser but nodded politely and ordered something else. Then looking relieved that the ordeal of taking our order was over the waiter rushed to the kitchen almost tripping over another patron's foot.
Surly, scowled, airs and graces, stiff as a board, overly deferential, tripping over his words, stuttering, head bobbing furiously, ungainly, able to balance plates and glasses better than a circus seal, graceful, gliding along as if he were on wheels, slinked, greasy, oozed from table to table, oily voice, peered over the top of half moon glasses, scribbled furiously on a small note pad, used a hand held device that looked like an ipad, efficient, overly attentive, gaunt, hungry-looking, vacant stare, dishevelled, looked like an over stuffed penguin, eaves dropping, swooping in to collect almost finished meals.
As I waited for my friend I observed the restaurant and what caught my eyes were the waiters. Their black uniforms neatly ironed and tucked in, white ties around their necks suffocating them like a python wound around them and all the tasks they had to manage in the limited amount of time. Angry customers tired of the blazing heat gave them furious glances as they grew impatient. The waiters rushed around with their pens and diaries hurriedly taking orders. It was an utterly chaotic atmosphere and the tension of the waiters heightened with every passing moment.
In the gloom of the cafe our knees almost touch under the narrow table. I want to whisper to Todd, tell him the bad news gently. He deserves that. But all about us other diners talk ever louder, competing with one another to be heard above their collective din. I have a whole conversation planned, a way to let Todd know I am leaving. He must know it's coming too, I see the hurt welling in his eyes behind that New Year smile. His usual steady gaze flickers from me to the muck on our table, no ours, it is left from the previous customers. I remove my elbows and sit a little straighter. From the corner of my eye I catch a young woman staring at us, her lank mousey hair falling in ribbons about her colour-drained t-shirt. In her hand is a small writing pad and a biro, she's the waitress. Todd orders for us, after all these years he knows exactly what I want before even I do. Perhaps that's why I have to go