It has Always been on the Menu

 

The saltshaker was tipped over, the handle on the syrup was coated and sticky, napkins were on the floor and the highchair was covered with spilled cereal. 

The waitress paused in her tracks, staring at the mess the family had left.  She could see there was no tip anywhere in sight.

Standing, frozen, contemplating her choices, she could hear her boss yelling for her to pick up the pace.

Across the restaurant, sitting at a window table was a woman watching the waitress agonizing over her situation.  As the waitress saw the customer's expression she felt a knowing, a deep understanding, and she knew what had to be done.

Today's special was in her purse.  It hung heavy on the coatrack in the backroom.  She carried it because of the neighborhood, but maybe today she didn't feel like being yelled at.  Maybe today, the neighborhood would be the least of everyone's problems. 

She turned back towards the kitchen, where other waitresses and busboys were busy with their sections.  She didn't stop at the counter.  In fact, as if she were in a trance, she walked past the cash register and into the back room, her manager still snapping at her.  At the coatrack, she reached into her purse and pulled out the chrome 38 caliber pistol her brother had bought for her.  It felt heavy and cold.  She knew it was loaded, it was always loaded.  Her brother had always told her, "If it isn't loaded, it's a paperweight."  Today is not the day for a paperweight, she thought.

As she walked back out into the dining area, she didn't even try to hide the gun.  She glanced around the room and in a clear, loud voice said, "Cover your ears, this is going to be loud."

There wasn't the slightest hesitation in her action.  When she reached the messy table, she took aim and shot the first dinner plate.  It was indeed very loud.  People screamed and most everyone ran for the door.  The plate shattered and sent bits everywhere.  The bullet carried on through and splintered the table, then punched a good-sized hole into the tile floor.  She shot again, hitting the syrup container and splitting the back of the highchair.  The bullet followed it's path to the cash register, causing the price of $118.40 to pop up.

She felt a hand on her shoulder.  It startled her, and she jumped a bit.  "Are you all right, Arlene?  It was her friend and co-worker, Nancy Velasco. "You've been standing here, just staring.  What's going on?"

Arlene looked at her.  "I'm fine.  I guess I was just day dreaming.  Maybe I need a vacation."  Arlene glanced around the restaurant.  Everything was normal, people were eating and talking about their day.  She looked over at the lady sitting by the window.  The lady was looking back at her with a slight smile.  She shrugged.  Arlene wondered if she knew just how close she came to really having something to talk about. 

The End

Don't forget to tip your waitress.