Adventures in Waitressing

I drop the first lobster I serve,

watch him slide across the floor

riding his deep silver lid

like a sled.

I hide my laughter

privately flip him back onto a plate

stage his claws and antenna

to look natural.

My method of uncorking

expensive bottles of wine

worth more than my car

is downright comical

locking pantyhosed knees

I knot my face

and swear under my breath.

“Out to eat” usually meant

a place with a drive-through window,

never with servers wearing bowties,

and lobster on the menu.

This is not a place

I belong.

But I keep my lipstick fresh

flash an even smile

and make customers laugh

as I beg them to please

not order the duck.

Within weeks, I’m promoted to

the Businessman’s Tap Room

where I swap out my black

tie and cummerbund

for pink satin.

Trafficking my looks

and affecting a fake

folksy accent,

for bigger tips.

Swallowing bitter guilt

each time I pass

the genuinely good server

who trained me.