Sunday November 14th, 2010

The exercise:

Let's write about: the waiter.

This is a scheduled post, since we're off having dinner out with friends in Vancouver tonight. See you guys tomorrow.

Mine:

He appears at our table
In a puff of gray smoke;
He takes all of our orders
While cracking awful jokes.

Another puff and he's gone
And much to my dismay,
I see that you've gone with him -
I guess I've already paid.

9 Comments:

Greg said...

That's quite some waiter you have there! I like the second verse better as it contains the denouement of the poem, I think, but it's good as a whole.

The waiter
The waiter reappeared at the table looking flushed. His previously perfect hair was now mussed, and a long, blond strand was now sliding across his eyes.
"The fish is also off," he said, his tone suggesting that he couldn't believe that the fifth thing he'd returned to the kitchen with was no longer available. "As is the sous-chef."
Famine grinned at him, and read out the next item from the menu.
"We'll try the veal parmigiano then," he said. "Unless that goes off between here and the kitchen."
The waiter hared off, desperate to be able to fulfill an order, and Pestilence, sat opposite Famine, stretched.
"I think I'll go and check out the bathroom facilities," he said. "Cholera deserves a resurgence."
"Teapot, mate. Totally teapot."

Zhongming said...

Marc – I fully agree with Greg on your piece today! Wonderful descriptions!

Greg – that’s some powerful combination all together! I think I like your piece today!

---

The waiter

He looks around waiting for
His chance to get an order but
He never got his chance.

---

Some of the things that
He had to do is to be
Polite and say thank you.

Budd said...

making only tips
serving fish and chips
taking crap from dips
at home writing scripts

Running to and fro
always on the go
stops to let you know
service is running slow

writes name upsided down
smile hides his frown
never is around
gotta get out of this town

doesn't listen what you say
order will be delayed
it is wrong anyway
sings happy birthday

service was a wreck
didn't eat a speck
waiter didn't give a heck
Can I get my check

summerfield said...

the waiter

"Hey!" Priscilla's date Jason beckons the man in red bow tie.

The man looks around then points to his chest and mouths "Me?"

"Yes, you! Jesus, what an idiot," Jason mutters under his breath. "No wonder this place is empty." The man slowly walks towards their table.

Priscilla touches Jason's arm and tries to tell him something. He pats her hand and ignores her. She rolls her eyes.

When the man is about three feet away from their table, Jason tells him, "I'd like to get a bottle of your house Shiraz, please. And the menu, please."

"I don't think..." Priscilla says but Jason puts his hand up.

"Can you move it, please? We have a show to catch," Jason tells the man and proceeds to push the sleeve of his dress shirt to look at his Rolex.

"You, too?" the man asks, his mouth breaking into a wide grin. "So am I!"

"Yeah, yeah." Jason waves off the man.

"So," the man says, "the waiter should be out here any minute to take your order, hopefully, mate. Because he should be bringing out my entree."

"What!?" Jason's jaw almost drops to the floor.

"And be nice to your waiter," the man continues. "You know those damn people, you treat them like shit and on your food they spit."

-o0o-
greg, i love those two characters of yours. can't wait for their next resurgence. that's great.

zhongming and budd, wonderful poems. yay!

marc, the grands can't wait for the next time they're here so i can read them what happens next to the jester.

Marc said...

Greg - ah, excellent, they've returned for another visit already! Great fun :)

Zhongming - I like both of yours, perhaps the second one slightly more.

Budd - hello and welcome! Thanks for dropping by and sharing your writing with us.

Loved the rhythm of your poem, it's a lot of fun to read out loud :)

Summerfield - ah, sweet justice.

And that's so great! I hope I don't disappoint :)

Watermark said...

A bit of a sci-fi posting :)

The Waiter

Jack grabbed the tablet from the middle of the table, his eyebrows furrowed as he tried to figure out how it worked. He touched the screen and an eerie voice boomed.

“Welcome! My name is Tyron and I’ll be your waiter for the evening. Please enter your selections.”

Jack fiddled with the device. He touched the screen again, brought up the menu and went through the motions of ordering their meal for the evening. The voice boomed again.

“Thank you, your order will arrive in ten minutes.”

Jack and his friends sat waiting for their food to arrive, eager to put a face behind the voice. Ten minutes later, they started fidgeting in their seats when he appeared. A tall dark man stood at their table, grinning widely, pushing a steel trolley. His name tag clearly pinned on his uniform. It said: Tyron’s Assistant. He transferred the plates of food and drinks from the trolley to the table.

“Where’s Tyron?” asked Jack curiously. The man pointed at the trolley, and without a word turned around and walked away.

Marc said...

Watermark - nicely done :)

Sci-fi interests me but I've never tried writing it. Hmm...

Heather said...

Not that it mattered. Evelyn was the only one who could hear the ruckus she was causing. The cart kept knocking into the wall with each body she loaded onto the dumb waiter. Her fiance, George, with that adorable dimple in his left cheek. It's what first drew her to him all those years ago. Evelyn exhaled slightly, tracing it lightly with her finger before using his suit jacket to move him further into the small space. Her heart twanged a little at the loss. He had been a good man, but he should have trusted her more.

On top of him, his mother, Charlotte. The ashen skin made her make-up even more vivid. Evelyn had the impression that she was a clown, only there was no laughter in her eyes. A sad clown perhaps. A small smile played across Evelyn's lips. Charlotte had kind of acted the clown in this whole mess. She tripped over her final words as if she was wearing big shoes. Evelyn was sure that if she had been wearing a corsage, it would have sprayed water. Charlotte's body folded onto itself as the dumb waiter lowered from the weight.

Finally, came George Senior, ever the clever business man. She was sure it was he had insisted on the pre-nup. But everyone else had agreed, even if it wasn't their idea. Ruefully Evelyn pushed him on top of the pile, the crowning piece of his family and certainly the circumstances in which she found herself tonight. He had grown heavy, not just from his ego, but from the rich pastries he seemed to constantly be eating. His doughy body continued to offer resistance, even after death. Evelyn worked up a sweat. The family loaded in the dumb waiter, she wiped her brow, and with it, any guilt feelings she may have had.

Marc said...

Heather - fantastic and fun, in a wonderfully dark way :)