The New Waitress

It was a payday, and Bob took his family out to eat. Paydays are a random event - they only happen when one of Bob's customers notices his invoice, and it is always a cause for celebration.

This day the whole family was able to attend, so it was Bob and The Captain, plus son David and daughter Michal. Michal, the youngest, was just nineteen, and had a boy's name like everybody else in the family. That had not actually been her parents' intent on naming her, but was the unexpected result of a carefully conceived system. Before she was born, Bob and Robbie each independently compiled a roll of all the girls names they could tolerate, and Michal was the only one to show on both lists. So she's Michal. The chances of her ending up with a guy named Michael are higher than for any other name, since it's the most common one for boys her age. That would continue the family tradition started by Bob and Rob of having names so similar they never know who the mail is for.

David, the only other child of the union, is twenty three and well established in the world of work. He attended college to learn computer programming, and having spent a year and a half there had absorbed as much as they could teach him. So he quit school and landed a plumb job at a major bank, working as a technical aide to their financial wizards. The fact that he only had a little college and no higher math did not negate his superb ability to translate abstract financial concepts into working financial systems - so he'd been quickly promoted - and in his early twenties was already earning twice what his father did. Plus he got paid on a schedule.

Michal is always uncomfortable at these family outings. She is still in the stage at which the mere existence of parents is intensely embarrassing - even when their behavior is normal and benign. David had passed through the same trying time years ago, and nowadays assumes a relaxed, amused confidence whenever he accompanies his parents in public.

It must be understood that Bob is nearly deaf. Whereas most people's inner ear organs are filled with thin, double refined hydraulic fluid, Bob's has something of the consistency of warm snot. It is a hereditary affliction, passed down the male line - his dad is deaf, and Dave doesn't hear all that well either.

Bob hears okay in a quiet room where the only sound is what he's listing to. But extraneous noise affects his inner-ear apparatus in such a way as to overwhelm fine detail - particularly hard consonants. So "pass the salt please" sounds to him exactly like "massive thought sneeze", leaving him watching the requester politely and expectantly, waiting to hear whatever interesting thing might be forthcoming, which is usually something disappointing like "Oh, never mind, I'll get it myself." He has of necessity become a lip reader, and communicates pretty well when conditions are suitable and he knows he's being spoken to. But if there's a wide spectrum of noise in the room, all his hearing receptors fire together continuously, giving him the sense of listening to full throated high decibel static, like standing next to a big waterfall. Hearing aids do nothing to ameliorate this condition.

One unfortunate side effect of the over-viscous fluid is the resonance that sets up between his cochlea and semicircular canals in certain soundscapes. This synesthesia befuddles his ability to appreciate certain kinds of music, particularly genres with a prominent beat, which cause his sense of balance to pulse disconcertingly with the music, quickly bringing on nausea. He therefore listens mostly to classical or 'unplugged' styles of music. Hard rock, rap or disco literally makes him throw up.

This evening the family decided to dine at David's favorite sports bar.

The place wasn't really noisy, in the sense of being very loud, but there were four different televisions tuned to four different sports broadcasts, and together with the regular restaurant noises, they rendered Bob almost senseless to normal conversation - exactly as if it was loud. He always spoke at high volume in such environments - just to be able to hear himself over the roar he heard, even if nobody else could hear it.

Bob meant to be friendly. He took pains to be polite and respectful to people, and while sometimes blustery, was almost never intentionally rude or hostile. Most people responded well to his ready, genuine smile. Unfortunately, he was not always able to communicate the warm friendliness he felt toward people. Once he insulted an acquaintance at the Home Depot. The man spotted Bob looking over some hardware, and decided to go over and say hello. Just as the man said "Hey, Bob," Bob decisively turned his back and strode purposefully away. He had not known the man was there at all. It was six months before cordial relations could be resumed. People who knew him well had learned not to take offense at such lapses.

When the hostess met them at the door, she asked Bob if they would prefer a booth or table. He flashed her a wide grin and bawled out, "IT'S BEEN GOOD SO FAR!" Her smile faltered, until David, standing behind him, said, "A booth will be fine." Once they were seated, the hostess handed everyone a menu and vanished.

Bob didn't have 'trains' of thought. His thinking was complex and layered and steered by mainly internal variables, and it could become detached from surroundings if his senses were over-stimulated. The roar that filled his ears as he perused the menu had caused his primary mental focus to detach from the resturaunt and alight internally, entering into a state he called 'popcorn mode'. His eyes went unfocused when the concept of 'concrete foam' snapped into his consciousness. What if you could make a foam of reinforced concrete? What could you do with that? It was an interesting idea. He considered things like lightweight buildings, boats, and bridges. The more he thought about it, the more compelling the idea became. He wasn't privy to the table conversation, and hadn't noticed the waitress when she came and introduced herself as 'Kaylee'.

Kaylee, like many young women her age, found herself discomposed in the presence of David - something David had little notion of. Her eyes kept returning to him, her face betraying more than she was aware of. Robbie noticed it and grinned. When Kaylee asked Bob what he'd like to drink, he ignored her, seemingly lost in the menu. Robbie ordered an iced tea for him.

How would you cause foam to form in concrete? Bob asked himself, compressed Air? CO2? He was considering how important it would be to make millions of tiny bubbles instead of just a few big voids - otherwise structural integrity would be compromised - when Kaylee returned with the drinks.

When deep in thought, Bob has the curious habit of actually voicing out-loud snatches of what he is pondering. While most people are visual learners, Bob's favored input path is auditory (which is unfortunate for one who hears so poorly). But if he can hear what he is thinking, it helps him focus his mind. It's easy to tell when he is concentrating hard, because of the random words that issue at intervals from his mouth.

So it was that evening. He sat, lost in thoughts of lightweight structural concrete, staring blankly at his menu, the waitress ready to take orders. She started with Robbie.

"I think I'll try the -"

"YEAST," Bob announced, causing Michal to jump in her seat.

Yeah, he thought, yeast might work. If it could be coerced to function in wet concrete - and if it was thoroughly mixed in. He wasn't aware that they were all looking at him - plus people at nearby tables. The room had become noticeably quieter.

"WET, FROTHY, CONCRETE," he continued, staring intensely at his menu, unconsciously relishing the feel of the words in his mouth. Then, after a pause, a lazy "PONTOOOOONS..." puckering his lips at the end and sounding much like a quietly baying hound.

Michal sank as low as she could in her seat, looking around furtively, hoping there was nobody around she knew. Bob's reverie was interrupted by David, who jerked his menu away.

"YOU'VE GOT A DEFECTIVE MENU, POP, TRY THIS ONE." He handed his father his own menu.

Bob glanced up, startled to find the waitress there, staring at him with an indecipherable expression. He gave her an embarrassed smile, then meekly settled down to actually read the menu. He had noticed that it was upside down, but he was perfectly capable of reading that way - it was good practice - it's amazing how often such skills came in handy. When the waitress got to him he looked her in the eye smiled and asked, "ARE YOUR BUNS SEEDY?"

Bob has a fussy tummy - seeds and nuts cause him pain, so he avoids them. He was thinking of getting a hamburger, but not if the buns had sesame seeds.

Poor Kaylee didn't know what to make of the question. It sounded vaguely rude, which was at odds with her customer's kindly expression. It occurred to her that the poor man might be retarded.

"E-excuse me?" she asked.

"YOUR BUNNNNNS," he said emphatically, spreading his arms wide, and yelling over the noise that only he could hear, "ARE -- THEY -- SEEDY?" Dang, he thought, it's hard to communicate in all this racket...

"Do your buns have sesame seeds on them?" Robbie interjected helpfully.

Kaylee, being new on the job, couldn't say for sure.

"I'LL JUST TAKE TWO BOTTOMS, THEN," Bob announced, closing his menu decisively and handing it to her. He'd meant to order a hamburger, but thus far had only voiced a desire for 'bottoms'.

The waitress blushed - unable to think of a response but to look nervously puzzled. She glanced at David again.

David shook his head and bawled to his father. "YOU CAN HAVE MY BOTTOM IF IT'S GOT SEEDS, I'M OKAY WITH JUST TOPS."

Bob considered, then nodded at the reasonable suggestion, looked at the waitress, smiled again and said, "I'LL HAVE WHAT HE'S HAVING."

Kaylee emitted an involuntary little whimper, sounding exactly like a squeeze toy, then took the opportunity for a quick getaway. Everybody at the table gave a heavy sigh, but for different reasons. Conversation at the surrounding tables slowly started up again. Robbie kicked Bob under the table and said "Your scaring that poor girl."

"HMMM?"

"STOP SCARING THE WAITRESS!" she clarified.

Bob's face assumed a hurt look. He started to ask for an explanation, but he didn't trust the exasperation he could see in The Captain's eyes - and he noticed his daughter was staring straight ahead with a cold, stony expression on her flushed face, arms crossed tightly in front. So he closed his mouth and kept quiet - determined to be extra nice to the waitress. David nudged him lightly under the table and gave him a quick grin.

The food was very good, as Dave said it would be. Bob was pleased to find the hamburger buns were of the plain, seedless variety. But he further unsettled the waitress by grinning at her whenever she could bring herself to look his way.

After a getting a strange comment from his newest employee, the manager came by their table to make sure all was well, and to suggest dessert. "Evening David," he said, recognizing one of his lunchtime regulars, "This must be your family."

David made the introductions. The manager could detect nothing amiss - he'd have to have a word with his jittery new waitress.

No dessert was ordered - the payday hadn't been that big. Except for the strange unaccountable moodiness of the women, Bob considered the meal a success. He hoped he'd find out what the problem had been if he kept calm and patient on the drive home.

He paid with his bank card, adding his customary heroic gratuity - making sure the total came out an even seven cents, as was his habit. His mind popped its focus back to the earlier subject, and he considered whether a foamed concrete pontoon would have to be sealed to make it watertight. Probably, he thought, water passes through concrete even when it doesn't have bubbles in it.

"NEEDS A SEALANT..." he announced, resolutely shaking his head as he signed the receipt. Robbie shook her head too. David chuckled. Michal let out an impatient groan - the sooner they were somewhere else the happier she'd be. Both women surreptitiously slipped in extra gratuity as they got up to leave, to help cover any misunderstandings that may have occurred.

On the way out, David doubled back and found a dumbfounded Kaylee examining her tip. He slipped her a twenty as he explained about his dad's deafness, and not to take him seriously - he'd meant no harm. "He's really okay once you get to know him." She watched him almost all the way out of the restaurant, the previous look returning to her face. Her thoughts alternated between David and Bob for the rest of her shift.

Bob and his family would return often in the following months, and Kaylee always had the hostess seat them in her section.