Week End

Sunday night. The dregs of the week. The burnt-down stub of a week gone up in smoke. I walk into Applebee's at 9:30 pm and find the bar empty. A few people sit at scattered tables, but not a soul sits at the bar this Sunday evening. Terry is tending bar ( I knew she would be).

"You're my only regular customer tonight," Terry says. Even when she has no customers at the bar, Terry stays busy. She mixes drinks, makes frozen drinks, milkshakes, and mudslides for customers at the tables. It seems like the Island Oasis and the blender are constantly churning. She cleans, she estimates and counts (bar inventory), she answers the phone, she punches in to-go orders. She's like the freakin' Eveready bunny—she just keeps going and going.

I order food, and Terry and I talk.

"Where did you and Bridgette go last night?"

"Nowhere. We talked a while, then I went home and she went home."

"I thought you and she had plans. I thought you were waiting for her."

"No. I just wanted a beer before I went home."

Soon it's 11 pm and the Muzak system is playing Closing Time. Coincidence, I wonder? Day's end, week's end, closing time. It's 11:15 when I leave. As I walk out the door I look back. Terry is bent over, busy sweeping around the bar and under the barstools.

Now I have a week of Applebee vignettes and there are still a number of Applebee ladies I haven't introduced. There's Ashley, who yells "Wayner!" whenever she sees me. There's Susan, a real sweetheart with a maturity that belies her 22 years. There's ...

But I won't try to name them all now. You'll meet them sooner or later.