Personal Yummy #80
“Hey, Bea, how’s it going?”
I walk through the front door, ready for the Saturday day shift, and there’s Bianca—at least I think it’s her—hunching down behind the bar, attaching a fresh keg of Rolling Rock to one of the taps.
“Oh, not too bad. I can’t complain,” she says, throwing her hand up in the air.
“You’re working for Adam today?” I ask, peering over the bar.
“Yep, that’s the plan,” she answers, glancing up at me and smiling.
“Oh, that’s good. Saturdays are always— Oh, but you know what? I was wondering…how was last night? Was it busy?”
“Boy, I’d say it was,” she responds with a heavy sigh, standing up and wiping her hands on her apron. “There were so many people in here I don’t think I had a break until after ten.”
“Really? Well, that’s the way it’s been lately. It’s great for the pocketbook, though…but, oh god! How—how did Shane handle it?”
“Well, for his first Friday night…” she replies, as she lifts her eyebrows and a hint of a smile forms at the corners of her mouth. “Well, you know, things weren’t going too bad until the incident with the Burgundy.”
“The incident with the what? Oh, don’t tell me that he—”
“Oh yeah. All over the guy sitting in the two-seater near the window. He got his hair, his white cotton shirt. Didn’t miss a spot, in fact…”
“You’re kidding???” I reply, my eyes getting bigger, the corners of my mouth beginning to turn upward as well (I haven’t even taken my coat and hat off yet). “I bet Nick was pissed,” I whisper, looking around to make sure no one can hear me say this terrible word, even though Bea and I are the only two in the place.
“Yeah, well, that’s an understatement… But I’ll tell you. It’s really too bad that that wasn’t the end of it.”
“Ah, come on.”
“I’m not joking. After Shane apologized over and over again, wiping as much of the wine out of the guy’s hair as he could, dipping a cloth in soda water and trying to get the stains out of the guy’s shirt—oh god, Jenna, it was such a spectacle—he went back up to the bar again and ordered another Burgundy from Nick.”
“Okay.”
“No, it really wasn’t okay. After he put the glass on the tray, he was rushing, like we all know he does, and he spun around way too fast. So—”
“Oh, please don’t tell me—”
“So the wineglass tipped over, and the wine spilled all over the floor. And, to top it all off, the glass rolled off the tray, too, and you can just guess what happened to it.”
I try my best, for at least ten seconds, but it is of no use. I can’t hold it in any longer, and neither can Bianca. We start laughing like crazy, the tears flooding our cheeks.
“I bet Shane never covers a Friday night for me again!” I exclaim, wiping my face with my gloves.
“Covers for you? Are you serious? How about if he ever talks to you again?” Bea points out, and we just laugh even harder.
******
The above excerpt is from my coming-of-age novel—The Grill on Murray Avenue: A Story of Innocence—about the inhabitants of an unassuming bar-and-grill in Squirrel Hill, a vibrant neighborhood in the east end of Pittsburgh. The story is told by Jenna, a young waitress who dreams of becoming a professional dancer.
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