Bad Concierge

It’s eight o’clock on Saturday evening. The Bistro’s mobbed. It’s the busiest hour of the busiest night of the week. Two couples hang anxiously outside the front door, hoping to get a table. Since no customer’s close to finishing they’re going to have a long wait....

Tomatoes Vs Baguettes

It’s Sunday afternoon. The Bistro’s dead. There’s not a single customer in the restaurant. The staff’s spread out in the back, reading magazines, fiddling with cell phones, or taking a nap. “Where’s Armando?” I say, not looking up from my newspaper. “I haven’t seen...

Burned

It’s Thursday evening and I’m walking towards Café American for a post shift cocktail. A cool breeze floats past me, fluttering summer skirts and caressing bare skin. Sidewalk cafés teem with young people drinking beer and savoring the gentle night. Girls sit with...

Party Favors

It’s four o’clock and the Bistro’s empty. I’m up front drinking espresso and sharing the newspaper with my coworkers Beth and Celine. “So when we getting our first customer?” I ask Celine, our occasional weekend hostess. “Not ’til six,” she replies, peeking over The...