Waitress Profile

Alexa could carry four plates of food, four glasses of water, and four mugs of coffee on a tray over one shoulder without spilling a crumb of food or a drop of liquid. She had been perfecting her art since her sixth birthday, when her father said: "It's time you learn hard work will sometimes pay your bills, or most of them most of the time, but it will never ever be rewarding." She carried two glasses of water that afternoon, one in each hand. Alexa couldn't remember the weather of the day, but she did remember it was before the dinner rush. The patrons were old and she felt them watching her with hope, fighting back cheers, jaws flexing with inaudible words, as she looped around the end of the counter and past the first row of tables. They were her family after all – the best army of grandparents any little girl could hope for – three wrinkled men, and eleven shrivelled women. She sloshed the water, in not one but both glasses; the waves jumped over the rim and rained down on her wrists, landing on the floor as a singular wet splat. Alexa stepped into the puddle, her left foot was already in the air, it was unavoidable, but she didn't slip, not on that step. Her right foot remained dry, floating over the spill, planting securely on the tiles. Perhaps because she was still walking, carrying the glasses with confidence, no one anticipated she would slip. Had they been paying attention instead of hoping attentively, they might have noticed the water dripping from the heel of her left shoe, they may have stood to warn her, but they were distracted with hope. The rubber produced a slight squeal as it rubbed against the tile, and Alexa went down, plastic glasses tinkering away, having emptied the water onto her chest and stomach. There were a few gasps, and one brief clattering of dentures, before the diner was silent. Her father watched, not daring to embarrass his impossibly proud daughter. Alexa looked at her shirt, closed her eyes, and slowly rose. She spoke evenly, "I'll get you fresh waters." A few moments later, she was pushing a mop away from a wet floor warning sign with a smile on her face, dirty glasses in her other hand, thinking of the story this would one future day become.