How Much Food Do You Need?
by Kate LaDew
The spaghetti dropped onto the table with a fierce plop. Bob blinked.
“Almost all of it got on the plate,” the waitress said. .
Bob looked down and nodded. “Well, almost.”
“That’s enough, I’d say.”
“I did order a full plate.”
“I told you, almost all of it.” She scooped up a few tendrils of spaghetti. They made a less fierce plop on the edge of the plate.
“It’s not as if I spilled it on the floor. It’s just on the table and some of it’s on the seat and the side of the table and the side of the seat. None of it’s on the floor, if that’s what you’re worried about. And we clean our tables. And our seats. If that’s what you’re worried about.”
“That’s not what I’m worried about.”
“I wash my hands, if that’s what you’re worried about. Everyone washes their hands here, when they can. Sometimes. If that’s what you’re worried about.”
“How much food do you need, anyway?” The waitress eyed Bob. “I mean, if I’m being honest, you might want to slow down a little there, tubs.”
“Save some for the rest of us, if you know what I mean.”
“You should let only almost all of your food get on the plate a little more often, buddy.”
“You’re a little fat.”
“I just wanted a plate of spaghetti.”
“And you got one.” She pointed at the plate. “Here’s a plate.” She pointed at the spaghetti. “Here’s spaghetti.” She pointed at Bob. “How much food do you need, lard-o?”
“Just my fair share.”
“I’d say you’ve had more than your fair share long enough, rotund.” The waitress picked up the few tendrils of spaghetti she had moved from the table to Bob’s plate and deposited them into her apron pocket. She pointed at the remaining spaghetti. “Eat that and like it.”
Bob ate it, but he didn’t like it.
Kate LaDew is a graduate from the University of North Carolina at Greensboro with a BA in Studio Art