waiting is their work. they wait for presence, for choice, for need. they accommodate both peckishness and greed. they are patient, prompt, informed, invisible, each as currency or course demands. they all have two right hands.
sometimes those they wait on are waiting, too. these sit and wait and look a little blue until their table’s filled, each setting seated. the waiters watch closest when this happens, keep their sympathetic smiles pre-heated. they’re watching for the ones who bear it best. (this is the first of many tests.)
in the lulls between meals they might eat. long after last call they finally fall to sleep, booths their beds and tablecloths their sheets. they get up early and stand by the windows, waiting for dawn. then they put their aprons on, snap towels clean as clouds, throw open the doors and wait for the crowds.