Chronicles of a Cocktail Waitress Pt. 2

The lights are on. Hip. Other hip. Sway with the left. Arch the back. Draw the right arm over their head. Pull the object of desire (a finished, thumb print pocked cup) closer with the tips of the fingers teasing the rim of the glass that sits on the table. Smile when they catch my eye.

I am as bright and bubbly as their amber colored beer.

I prance, I swish, I brush my butt on his back. Hit the right bosom across his head.

“Whoops. Sorry!” (Not really.)

Whisper secrets into their ears, a sultry: “What can I get for you?” Then, wait. Hover right by their cheek or squat right down to the floor and look up at them from their knees. Implore them with a smile and sometimes a wink: “Is that all?”

Swish back up the aisle. Butt brush again. Hip bounces off their shoulders. All of their heads are right at eye level with my chest.

I pile my tray with drinks, steaming with perspiration, dripping sweat down the sides of the glass. Each drink holding a promise I made to them: “I can get that, no problem.”

Back out to the tight rope walk, this time holding 15 pounds of beverages above their heads. A small Clink! as the glasses kiss each other as I pass through the sea of chairs and human heads, looking for a place to set down the cold cups.

They watch me as I pass, eyes follow my movements, some faces eagerly checking my hands for an order they made.

The lights go down. It is dark. Candle light is the only way to see, except for the glow of the stage lights that cast shadows on their eye sockets, making it hard to follow their gaze. I keep my gaze on the slippery, wet glasses as I hand out each drink to the darkened faces.

I bite my lip, furrow my brow, my wrist aches from holding the tray, my hand shakes from the strain of being quiet. I must not disturb the show or the trance the music or poetry can hold on the crowd. I must become a ghost, a ninja, quietly passing by once the show begins, only to return in full splendor once the entertainment ends. In the dark I don’t have to smile, saving my energy for the lights to come on again.

In the dark, I diminish, the show holds their attention and I can relax; rubbing my sore back and massaging my arms in preparation for the next round of orders and flirts.

May 31, 2013 at 5:17 pm by Natalie Allen