The Waiter

The Waiter

By

Charles P. Sciorra

“I’m hungry,” Laura said as they stepped down from the bus.

Jonathan nodded, checking his watch. “Me too. Let’s find a place quickly. We’re already behind schedule.”

Laura sighed. “Does everything have to be on a schedule? Can’t we just… wander a bit?”

Jonathan frowned. “Wandering wastes time. I’d rather have a plan.”

Across the street, a small café caught Laura’s eye. Its windows streaked with grime, offered a glimpse of a dimly lit interior, a lone candle flickering on a window table. A faint aroma, a curious blend of stale beer, and something strangely sweet, wafted out, piquing their interest despite the uninviting exterior.

“How about that place?” Laura pointed, her tone hopeful.

Jonathan hesitated. “It looks… questionable.”

“Exactly. It’s an adventure.” She grabbed his hand and pulled him across the street before he could protest.

Inside, the café was dark and smelled of stale beer and sauerkraut. They hesitated and thought about leaving and finding a different restaurant. But hunger drove them to stay. They stepped past a half-occupied bar and took a booth in the back. A small candle flickered at their table, casting an eerie glow that seemed to challenge the dull order of their lives.

A waiter approached within minutes.“We have no food or drink. May I take your order?”

Jonathan, a control freak who craved order, felt a familiar tightness in his chest. This disruption to his carefully planned day triggered anxiety. He prided himself on logic and pragmatism, but this waiter was testing his limits. His frustration stemmed not just from the absurd situation, but from a deeper-seated fear of losing control.

Laura, sensing his unease, placed a calming hand on his arm. More patient and easygoing by nature, she suggested softly, “Perhaps we should just play along.”

“I’m sorry, but we don’t understand what you’re saying,” Laura said, looking confused at the waiter. While also perplexed by the waiter’s behavior, Laura didn’t let it frustrate her as much. She tried to diffuse Jonathan’s rising temper, her touch a silent reminder of their connection and the importance of staying in the present.

Jonathan didn’t believe what he had just heard. “Did you say you have no food or drink?”

The waiter, speaking with a slight accent, sighed and said, “You have excellent hearing. However, as we say in France, ‘your comprehension sucks, Monsieur.’ Yes. That is precisely what I said.”

Jonathan shook his head. “If you have no food or drink, what may we order? Please let us have a menu.”

“No. You certainly may not,” the waiter quickly responded. “A menu? Hah! What would you do with a menu? If there was a menu, and there is not, there would be no food or drink on such a menu.”

The waiter leaned in, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Possibilities, Monsieur. Dreams. Nonsense. Whatever your heart desires.”

Laura laughed, her eyes sparkling. “I love this place already.”

Jonathan groaned. “This is ridiculous. Let’s go.”

But Laura stayed seated. “Wait. Let’s see where this goes. Maybe it’s… fun.”

Jonathan crossed his arms. “Fun? This is chaos.”

The waiter clapped his hands. “Chaos! Yes, Monsieur, you are beginning to understand. Chaos is the spice of life. Now, what shall it be? A slice of nostalgia? A glass of longing? Jonathan threw up his hands. “This is pointless.”

Laura touched his arm, her voice soft. “Jonathan, just play along. For me?”

“How are we supposed to order if there is no menu and you have no food or drink? What kind of restaurant is this?”

“A very good one, Monsieur! A fine one. Oh my, yes. A very fine restaurant. We have the most wonderful reputation for excellent food and drink. Monsieur, may I request that you please keep your voice down.”

“That’s ridiculous. How can you have a wonderful reputation for excellent food and drink when you don’t have any food and drink?”

“Yes, we do,” the waiter quickly responded.

“No, you don’t. You said you had no food or drink,” Jonathan snapped.

“Yes, we do-o-oo,” the waiter answered in a sing-song voice.

Laura looked at Jonathan and whispered, "I’m hungry, but maybe we should just leave and find another restaurant."

Jonathan nodded in agreement. "I think that's a good idea. This is just too difficult to understand."

The waiter’s face fell as the couple got up to leave. "I am so sorry you are not enjoying your experience here.”

“Of course, we’re not enjoying our experience, you contemptible excuse for a waiter. How can we order if we can’t see a menu?”

“Would you like anything else?” the waiter interrupted.

“Anything else? Anything else! We haven’t had anything to begin with. How could we like anything else, you nincompoop?” Jonathan shouted in exasperation.

“Surprisingly your words do have some truth in them. However, before I explain, may I say you are a very persnickety young man, Monsieur? Very, very picky and extremely critical.”

“Your explanation?”

The waiter’s face flushed with frustration. "Very well. Since you have the intellect of a dandelion, I shall endeavor to speak slowly and clearly, Monsieur. You may order ‘anything else’. Now, does that finally satisfy your incessant babbling?” The waiter smiled and raised each eyebrow up and down like a juggler.

“You are the rudest waiter I have experienced in my entire life! How you remain employed is beyond me. All right. We’ll play your silly game. May we please see the ‘anything else’ menu?”

Jonathan and Laura exchanged looks of frustration and growing hunger. They had to get food, even if it meant going along with this maddening waiter.

Jonathan tapped his foot impatiently and repeated. "So... can we get a menu?"

“There you go again. I’ve had just about enough of your bird-brained questions. Do or do you not want a bowl of sausage and sauerkraut?”

“Who said anything about sausage and sauerkraut?” Jonathan shouted.

“I did, you idiot! Please keep your voice down, Monsieur. Sausage and sauerkraut for two?”

“Yes! But what can we drink if you have no drinks?” Jonathan was sure he had him this time.

“That is entirely up to you.”

“I think we have to order a drink from ‘anything else’,” Laura guessed.

“Oh, in that case, we’ll have a bottle of Chablis from ‘anything else’.”

“We have no Chablis.”

“Then, we’ll have a bottle of Chardonnay,” Jonathan proudly replied and smiled.

“Chardonnay cannot be ordered from ‘anything else’. Chardonnay must always be ordered from ‘What else would you like’? However, Monsieur, if you order Chardonnay from ‘What else would you like’? I must inform you that the Chardonnay from ‘What else would you like’? Is quite warm. It is, in fact, hot. Yes, I would say, hot. Perhaps Monsieur would like ice cubes? We have many wonderful ice cubes.”

“Enough! Bring us the bottle of Chardonnay from the ‘What else would you like’? with a bowl of your wonderful ice cubes!” Jonathan spits out the command through clenched teeth.

“Monsieur, we do not have bowls for the many wonderful ice cubes. We have lovely plastic bags for the many wonderful ice cubes.”

“Why not use one of the sausage and sauerkraut bowls?” Jonathan asked sarcastically.

“Monsieur is such a simple-minded young man. The bowls are strictly for use with the sausage and sauerkraut. The lovely plastic bags are strictly for use with the many wonderful ice cubes. A stringent restaurant policy. Oh Yes! Very strict indeed.”

“Please bring us two bowls of sausage and sauerkraut and a bottle of Chardonnay with the many wonderful ice cubes in a lovely plastic bag.”

“Right away, Monsieur. Shall I also put the beef stew order in now?”

“Shoot him, Laura.” Jonathan pleaded.

“OK. But can I please wait until after we eat? I’m so hungry!” Laura pleaded.

Jonathan scowled. "I think we've had enough of this place. Can we please just get the sausage, sauerkraut, and Chardonnay with a lovely plastic bag of the wonderful ice cubes?"

The waiter nodded sagely. "An excellent choice. Unfortunately, it’s too late. You took too much time dilly-dallying… asking for a menu and all your other simple-minded questions. So, all that is left is ‘only nonsense!" He chuckled to himself, as the couple stared in confusion, anger, and growing hunger.

“Laura, let’s get out of here,” Jonathan had reached the end of his patience.

“But, I’m so-o-o hungry Jonathan,” Laura whined.

“Alright. Bring us ‘only nonsense’," Jonathan declared.

The waiter clapped his hands gleefully. "Splendid! I shall prepare two orders of ‘only nonsense’ at once." He skipped away, leaving them more bewildered than before.

As they sat at the table, the strangeness of the café began to stir something in them both. Jonathan clenched his fists beneath the table, his need for control warring with the absurdity around him.

Sensing his inner turmoil, Laura feared his frustration wasn’t just with the café, but with her. She worried that her passivity, which he’d criticized in a recent argument, might be driving him away. He wanted structure in their relationship, while she valued their easygoing dynamic. Yet, as she watched the candle flicker, she realized their relationship was a delicate balance between order and chaos.

A shared glance between them finally broke the tension, a small smile curling at the edges of her lips.

After several minutes of muffled clanking from the kitchen, the waiter reappeared, balancing two large plates. “Here are your ‘only nonsense’. One order of plain foolishness and another of utter rubbish.”

The plates contained colorful but unidentifiable blobs. Jonathan poked at one suspiciously. “And... what exactly is this?”

The waiter winked. “That, Monsieur, is for you to discover.”

Laura took a tentative bite, her eyes widening in surprise. “It’s… quite good. Sweet but tangy.”

Jonathan hesitated, then tried a bite. To his astonishment, it was delicious. He looked at Laura, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Okay, this is officially the weirdest meal I’ve ever had.”

Laura laughed, the sound light and carefree. “Maybe that’s the point.”

As they ate, the strangeness of the café began to stir something deeper in them both. Jonathan felt the tightness in his chest ease, replaced by a lightness he hadn’t known in ages. Laura watched him, her smile lingering. “See? A little chaos isn’t so bad.”

Jonathan nodded, his voice soft. “Maybe not.”

They finished eating, strangely satisfied despite it all. Laughing in disbelief, Jonathan and Laura were unsure if they’d ever unravel the meaning behind this curious restaurant.

“Monsieur, you came in expecting a meal, but what you truly needed was perspective. Now that you have tasted ‘only nonsense,’ perhaps you will see the world differently.”

As Jonathan and Laura stepped out of the café, the cool night air wrapped around them, clearing the strange tension that had lingered inside. Jonathan exhaled, rubbing his temples. “That was… something else.”

Laura chuckled, slipping her hand into his. “You handled it better than I expected.”

Jonathan smirked. “I think I gave up trying to understand about halfway through.” He looked down the empty street, then back at Laura. “Maybe that’s the point, though. Not everything needs to make sense.”

She squeezed his hand. “Exactly.”

For the first time in a long while, Jonathan felt lighter, as if shedding his obsession with control had loosened something inside him. He took a deep breath, feeling the weight of his expectations lift just a little.

Then, something made him turn back toward the café.

His brow furrowed. The once dimly lit windows were now completely dark. The flickering candle at the window table was gone. The entire place looked abandoned—dust-covered windows, a faded "For Lease" sign barely clinging to the glass. The neon "Café du Nonsense" sign above the door was no longer there. In its place, a rusted old plaque read:

"The Empty Plate – Est. 1942."

Jonathan blinked. "Wait. That’s… that’s not what the sign said before, right?"

Laura turned, her eyes widening. “No. It wasn’t.”

A chill ran through them both. Had they imagined it? Had they even been there at all?

Then, from the darkened doorway, a familiar figure emerged. The waiter.

He stood there, arms crossed, a knowing smile on his lips. He tipped an imaginary hat to them, his eyebrows raising in that same theatrical way.

Jonathan took a step forward. “What is this place?”

The waiter simply grinned. “Ah, Monsieur, perhaps the truth lies not in understanding—but in experiencing.”

- 

Before Jonathan could respond, the waiter gave a slight bow and stepped backward—vanishing into the shadows of the empty café.

Jonathan swallowed hard. He turned to Laura, who only shook her head, a slow smile forming. “I don’t think we’re supposed to know.”

Jonathan hesitated, then let out a quiet laugh. “Maybe that’s okay.”

Hand in hand, they turned away, walking into the night. The café—whether real, imagined, or something in between—had left them with something intangible but real. As they moved down the street, Jonathan felt something he hadn’t in years.

A sense of freedom.