The Waitress Application at Dot’s Cafe

Picking Up the Pen

I got up from the booth. Greg looked relieved for a second, I think because he thought I was leaving and the hard part was over.

“Let me get the biscuits,” I said.

I went back to the kitchen and took them out, and they were fine, a little dark on the bottoms. I set the pan on the rack.

Then I came back out and picked up the application off the table and the ballpoint pen that was lying beside it.

I did not sit back down in the booth with him. I went behind the counter, by the register, where Mom used to do her books standing up because her knees hurt worse when she sat.

Filling Out the Form

I laid the application flat on the counter and clicked the pen.

Name: Tammy Pruett Kroll.

Address: the farm out on Route D, the same as it had been for twenty-eight years.

Position wanted: Waitress.

Hours available: Any.

I could feel the men on the stools not looking at me. There is a way a man has of not looking that is louder than staring.

Previous employment. I wrote the name of the cafe and the street address. I wrote, Kitchen Manager, 2012 to present. I wrote, Waitress, 1990 to 1993. Then, under “reason for leaving,” I wrote: Have not left.

The Line That Said Skills

Then I got to the line on the form that said “Skills.” It had room for maybe five words.

I turned the application over to the blank back side, and I started to write.

Lyle Bauer. Two over medium, wheat toast dry, black coffee in the brown mug. Never the white mug.

Dale Meyer. Short stack, no butter. Not supposed to have syrup for his sugar. Has it anyway. Bring it in the little pitcher so his wife can’t see it from the street.

Ed and Carl Lehman. Split one order of biscuits and gravy. Fight over the check. Ed pays on even days.

Thirty-One Names

I kept going. I wrote down the Methodist ladies who come in on Wednesdays after circle meeting and want decaf and say they do not, and the trucker from the elevator who has to have his eggs in a to-go box by 6:15 or he misses his load.

I wrote down the Friday cinnamon rolls, how many pans, and which three tables they get saved for.

I wrote down that the walk-in cooler door has to be lifted when you shut it or it won’t seal, and that the food truck from Columbia comes Tuesdays and Fridays and the driver’s name is Kevin and he will short you on bacon if you do not count it.

I wrote down Patty. Half a grilled cheese at 10:30 or she gets shaky. She won’t ask. Just make it.

The Last Name on the List

There were thirty-one names by the time I got to the bottom of the back side. My hand had started to cramp.

The only sound in the whole place was the radio, the farm report giving the price of feeder cattle in Kingdom City, and my pen.

I had a little room left at the bottom. I thought about it for a second. Then I wrote the last one.

Greg Pruett. Chocolate pie, the corner piece, the one with the most crust. Every Christmas. Mom saves it for him under a bowl.

I looked at that line for a long minute. Mom would not be saving it this year. I would have to remember to do it, if I was still there by Christmas.