Monthly Archives: May 2006

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Another Sparrow

“Do you hear that?” Melinda, our hostess asks me. “Hear what?” I reply tiredly. Its Sunday brunch and I’m exhausted from the night before. “There’s a bird in the restaurant!” “You’re kidding me.” “No, listen.” I strain my ears. Over the din of our busy

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SNAP

“A man cannot break his penis,” Kylie, my twenty two year old waitress, exclaims. “Sure he can,” I reply. Don’t ask me how we got on this subject because I forgot. Waitstaff conversations are free associative exercises that usually culminate in sex talk one way

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Naked City

I’m standing outside the Bistro, enjoying the cool of the early evening breeze, when a beautiful woman clad only in a towel walks past me. “Good evening,” I say nonchalantly, as if nearly naked women pass my restaurant everyday. “Good evening,” the woman replies with

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Cocktail

It’s Saturday night and the Bistro’s jamming. I’m heading to the men’s room when Beth, a fellow waiter, intercepts me. “I need help,” she squeaks, “I’m going into the weeds.” “Whatcha need?” I offer gallantly. My piss can wait a minute. “Do you know how

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Dog Park II

I’m at the dog park watching Buster, my joint custody pooch, sniff some Pekinese ass. “That your dog?” a big burly guy asks, pointing to Buster. “Yeah,” I reply, “The Pekinese yours?” “Yeah,” the big guy says smiling, walking towards me, “They seem to get

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Mother’s Day Grinch

I slide up to the bar at Café American. I just finished a ten hour shift. The Bistro had a lousy night – twenty customers total. But it was still a hard day. I need a drink. “The usual?” the bartender asks me, holding up

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The First Line of Defense

Melinda’s our new hostess. She’s in her early twenties and trying to pick up a little extra cash. I feel bad for her. There are easier ways. Drug dealing and prostitution come readily to mind. Oh well. “So how are things?” I ask her. “Oh,

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Costs

“Is all your pasta homemade?” my customer, an obvious foodie type, asks. “No sir,” I reply truthfully, “Some, not all.” “What’s homemade?” the man asks with a trace of exasperation, “I only eat homemade pasta.” I want to tell my customer he’s been infected with

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Business is My Trouble

The Bistro’s phone rings. I glare at it. I should pick it up by the third ring but I don’t. I hate the phone today. I’m at the end of my workweek and my reservoir of patience is depleted. If I have to deal with