“What can I get ya?” The waitress glances out of the corner of her eye at more customers coming in the diner.

It’s busy in here and I can see the stress is weighing her down. Her shoulders are hunched over wearily, making her look like a flower that’s past its bloom and now the petals are inching toward the ground where it’s getting ready to return. Her red hair is tied back tight, but little frizzy tendrils have escaped her bun, like rogue flames arching up to burn the sky.

“Sorry, I haven’t decided yet.” I glance over the menu for the least expensive options. With less than one hundred dollars to my name, I need to stretch every cent as far as possible.

“Can I get you a coffee or something to start?” She stuffs her notepad in the small apron wrapped around her waist.

“Water would be great.” I look up at her. The tarnished name tag pinned to her blouse says: Marge. It suits her.

But then, I find most names do suit the people with them. I’m never sure why that is. Why is it that almost every man named Bob I’ve ever met works with his hands? How is it that I’ve only ever known two ladies named Quinn, and they were both startlingly beautiful and painfully shy? Is it a coincidence that every single lady named Tammy I’ve ever run into has cussed like a sailor and been able to drink everyone in the bar under the table?

“Coming right up.” Marge gives me a quick nod and rushes across the busy restaurant in her comfortable looking sneakers. They look strange with her pinstripe skirt and pale yellow shirt, but I get why she’s not trotting around in high heels. I can’t imagine running your feet off all day in a place like this.

I stare down blankly at the menu and my eyes come into focus on the prices. I swallow hard, like I can somehow get this bitter pill life has given me out of my throat. It looks like I’ll be doing more than just imagining working a job like this. Hopefully I can get hired on here and stop worrying about every penny I’m spending.

Marge returns with a tall glass of crushed ice cubes surrounded by water. “Make up your mind yet?” She narrows her eyes at me.

“Umm, yeah. I’m just going to get a whole wheat bagel with butter, please.”

“Is that it?” Her hand is hovering, pen ready, over her notepad.

“For food it is.” I close the menu and she grabs it.

“Whaddya mean?”

“I, well, are you guys still hiring? I saw the sign out front and I’m looking for a job, so…”

“You wanna be a waitress?” I can see the doubt in her brown eyes. Marge tucks her pen behind her ear and watches me.

“If you’re hiring, I’d love to,” I say too enthusiastically.

“You’d love to,” she echoes my words like I’m speaking gibberish.

My cheeks tinge with heat as she sizes me up. I can’t tell what she’s thinking, but she’s not looking too convinced I’d be good for the job.

“Got any experience?”

“I sure do.” I try not to blink too much as I lie. That’s my tell. On different sets, when we’d have time to kill between takes, we’d play a few hands of poker. Everyone knew that if I started blinking too much, I was bluffing. Besides, it’s not like I’m completely fabricating a story here. I have waitressed before. I mean, I had a bit role as a waitress in a small movie once. Doesn’t that count for something?

“When can you start?”

“Now, if you want.” I smile.

“Sounds good, follow me.”

“Oh, really?” I stand abruptly. I wasn’t expecting her to take me up on the offer right this second.

“Yeah, you can have a bagel in the back. I won’t even charge you for it.” She smirks at me. “That is, unless you’ve changed your mind?”

“No, no.” I shake my head and grab my water. “I don’t mind starting now.”

“Good, then follow me.” Marge sails past the patrons and guides me through the kitchen to a back office.

Two big men dressed in white are manning the kitchen. It smells like French fries cooked in bacon grease back here. My stomach grumbles, not so subtly reminding me the last time I ate was yesterday.

“Jimmy, toast up a whole wheat bagel, will ya?” Marge yells from inside the office and then begins rummaging around. “Okay, so the last girl left her uniform here. It should fit you all right. You can get dressed in the bathroom. It’s around the corner there.” She points.

The toaster pops and Jimmy calls over, “What’s on it, Marge?”

“Butter,” she yells back and then turns her attention to me. “Why are you still standing here? Get changed, chop chop!” She claps her hands loudly.

I jump into gear and disappear into the restroom. Somehow I manage to squeeze into the pinstripe skirt, even though it’s so snug around my hips, I almost can’t tug the zipper up. The shirt keeps popping open at the button over my chest. I tie on the apron and look in the mirror. Even though I’ve already got my long, blond hair tied back up in a topknot, I’m not sure I look like a waitress. More like a stripper named Foxy whose show kicks off with a too-tight waitress uniform and ends with pasties and a G-string.

“You good?” Marge’s voice is muffled through the door.

“As good as I’ll ever be, I guess,” I mumble to myself. “Okay, Audrey, lights, camera, action,” I whisper the familiar words and stand up straight, opening the door.

“A bit tight, but that’s no problem in this biz,” she eyes me critically. “You might as well undo that button before it pops clear off the shirt.” She nods to my breasts.

“It’s not showing too much?” I open it up and feel even more like Foxy the stripper.

“Nah, if you’ve got it, flaunt it. Helps you get more tips too, believe me.”

“Okay.” I shrug.

“Now, grab your food and get out on the floor. I’m swamped out there and need as much help as I can get.” She points at the plate with my bagel on it and walks toward the dining room.

I start eating my food, reminding myself to actually chew it instead of just swallowing it whole. I’m so hungry even a simple bagel tastes so good.

“Well, it’s about damned time you showed up!” Marge chirps at a young woman rushing into the back as she’s pulling her long, brunette locks into a ponytail.

“I know, I’m sorry. I completely overslept.”

“Again? This is the second time this month you’ve left me with the breakfast rush. Maybe you need to find a new job, Kayla.”

“No, I swear it won’t happen again. Please, it was a dumb mistake. I promise.” The girl sweeps her hair up and quickly shrugs out of her coat. “Look, I’m ready to go. In my uniform and everything.” She points down to the outfit that matches mine.

“Someone get this girl a raise! She showed up with her uniform on.” Marge claps sarcastically. “Look, I don’t have time for this. There’s a new girl back there. She’s uh, hey”—her head snaps in my direction—“what’s your name, doll?”

“Audrey.”

“You look like an Audrey,” she muses. It’s good to know I’m not the only one who thinks like that. “Kayla, you’re training Audrey today. Make sure you show her how to do everything right and not your lazy way of doing them.”

“Sure thing, Marge.” Kayla beams. She’s probably glad she’s not fired.

“Chop chop, ladies!” Marge yells and we both jump into action.

I cram the last bite of bagel in my face and chomp on it as I let Kayla lead the way. She pulls a notepad out and hands me a pen to go with it. “Here, I’ll show you how to take the order and you write it down. Once you’ve got it, come over here and clip it here, got it?” She points to a track over the kitchen window that looks out to the dining area.

“Got it.”

She leads the way to an elderly man who’s squinting behind his glasses and holding his menu so close to his face it’s almost touching his nose. “Mr. Ellis, what can I get you today?”

“What kind of sandwich special do you have today?” His voice is creaky like a rusty door hinge.

“What’s today, Saturday? Umm, it’s roast beef.”

“I’ll take that and a coffee. Nothing in it.”

I write everything down and Kayla smiles down at him. When he looks up at us, some of the lines seem to smooth from his deeply wrinkled skin and even though his lips are permanently tugged down in the corners, he fights gravity with a smile.

“We’ll get that right away for you.” She jerks her thumb at me. “The new girl here is gonna bring it to you.”

I walk past the buzzing tables, almost all of them full with hungry, mostly older people. Tearing the paper from the pad, I clip it in the track and yell out, “Order’s up.” Mostly because that’s what I used to say when I played a waitress in the movie.

This isn’t so hard. I think I might just have the hang of this whole waitressing thing. Maybe this is all going to work out for me. And who knows, maybe things aren’t going to be as bad as I thought.