Hilda the Waitress
By
Michael Edwin Q.
If they ever have a waitress’ hall
of fame, a large portrait of Hilda Broz would be the first thing you see as you
enter the building. Hilda worked at the Colonial Diner, across from the train
station for over thirty years. She’d raised her three children singlehanded.
She worked hard to put all three through college – proof she did have a heart.
She could recall up to twenty
orders and which customers got what. Your food was always hot and your plate
was removed just after the last bite. She could carry four plates on each arm
and pull a twelve hour shift six days a week.
But years of working with the
public left her a very private person with a very cold heart. Every night, at
home, as she soaked her feet, she’d erase every face she came across that day
from her memory. She wanted nothing to do with the human race.
The Colonial Diner was packed.
Chris waited for a seat at the counter.
“What’ll it be?” Hilda asked in
arctic tones.
“I’d like an order of buttered
toast and a cup of hot water, please.”
“White, pumpernickel, or whole
wheat?”
“White, please.”
“You know we do have tea bags, if that’s
what the hot water’s for.”
“No, but thank you. I’d just like
a cup of hot water, please.”
After placing his order in front
of him, Hilda backed off and watched. The old man reached for the Ketchup and
stirred two tablespoons of it into the hot water/ He salt and peppered it, and
began dunking his toast in the mixture.
He looked up to see Hilda’s
questioning face.
“I’ve gotta watch my pennies,
while I’m traveling. It don’t taste as good as tomato soup from a can, but it
cuts the hunger.”
Hilda walked away, shaking her
head in disgust and disapproval, only to return with a hamburger and an order
of fries. She plopped it down on the counter.
“I’m sorry, but I didn’t order
this,” said Chris.
“Fellow at the other end of the
counter ordered this and decided he didn’t want it.”
“Really?”
“Have I ever lied to you?” asked
Hilda.
“Not lately,” said Chris.
“Listen, you want it or not? If
not it goes into the trash.”
“Oh yes, please, thank you very
much.”
Chris dug in with both hands.
Hilda went into the kitchen where
she was sure no one would see her and she did something she hadn’t done in a
very long time. She smiled.
END
YOU IN MY DREAMS by Michael Edwin Q.
