“Welcome to Vacationland.”
“The way life should be.”
Slogans that lure strangers from afar to this northern state of New England to explore what it has to offer. Autumn being harvest season, it’s when we reap the rewards, it is the season of the leaf peepers, the newly weds and nearly deads.”
They come by road and by sea, in car or tour buses, on boats or cruise ships. All on their own adventures with hopes of catching a glimpse of a moose or maybe a whale, or to explore the great outdoors; whatever their adventures may be all these vacationers will soon grow hungry.
Melissa and I begin our opening shift by brewing coffee, icing creamers and lemons, setting up plates with butter packets and miniature pitches for maple syrup. And checking our sections for full sugar and jelly caddies.
The fog rolls up the street, and enchants me with its mist, can’t even see the cruise ships in the harbor. Today's passenger and crew totals over 7,000; now that’s not to say that they all tender in, or that they are all coming to the restaurant for meals or for our bus tour tickets, nonetheless we prepare.
At some tables you can’t even get the words, “Good Morning” out of your mouth, and the transient diner barks for coffee. I just close my mouth, bow my head and go fetch. I am more than just a vehicle to the nectar of the bean.
There are the diners that say good morning back to you, and ask how you are; as you take your breath to reply they cut you off and tell you what they will have. There are two creatures of this world,one:
“I want two eggs and toast.” The woman confirms.
“How do you want your eggs? I ask.
“Sunny side-up.”
White, wheat or rye? I ask.
“Wheat.”
“And you have a choice of homes fries or grits?
“Yes.”
“Which?” I must ask.
“Oh, um, home fries.”
Then there are the others creatures;
“I want coffee black and my wife’s with cream and sugar. She will have blueberry
pancakes, real maple syrup and bacon well done. I a spinach and goat cheese omelet, wheat toast dry, home fries crispy, and orange juices with our meal.”
Followed by, “Oh and we are on your bus tour of the park, and we need to board in thirty minutes.”
Meanwhile I am standing there with one pot regular and one pot decafe and all I had asked was, “Would ya like coffee?”
Interactions with the transient diners like this continue relentlessly throughout the day. Passing dialogue, filled with questions on each side, and repeated answers, and inflection of tone as patience thins either mine or theirs.
All amongst the clamoring and clanging of dishes, and those god damn coffee cups, half empty begging to be filled and to be warmed.The checks that need printing, the printer that needs paper; those plates in the kitchen grow hotter the longer they sit dying in the window, the voids, the separate checks, and the ten percenters.
Then there’s Andy cussing behind the line at all the orders that just came in all at once. Tis the season of the leaf peepers, the newly weds and the nearly deads; we survived another grueling day of cruise ship season and the turn and burn beast that is breakfast.
2 comments:
I'm not sure what I'm looking at here. Week 5? Adult memoir? Let me know so I can react sensibly to your piece and without putting my foot in it.
I think I got lost.
> This was like the day in the life of a waitress, a part of me as an adult. A
> scene, action and the writers voice. That is what I attempted here. You
> wrote a short piece about surgery, one day in the life of.
Your piece is a good piece--it really is! Exactly what you say: scene, action, voice. I'm always a sucker for outastata tales, and this is nicely done.
But it's not an adult memoir. It's a batch of memories all meshed together (meshed very well) to give a picture, an overview. But it is not dealing with a particular incident or, rather, it makes blended memories read like a particular incident, which is usually a good move, but not in an adult memoir (I'm not 100% sure of that last part fo the sentence, but, on balance, I believe I'm right.)
'Surgery' was not one day in the life of. Anything but. It described several incidents but the day of the surgery was not a typical, average day where I blended memories to come up with an overview of my days. It was a very particular day, never to be repeated, not like any other day I had ever had until that point in my life.
So, I think you got off on the wrong track here.
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