“Is the waitress EVER going to bring our check?!” Burt threw his purple arms in the air, bringing his meaty fists down onto the table so that everyone’s plates, the ones not yet cleared from the missing waitress, bounced and clattered.
The manager, who had been pacing the kitchen floor, hoping the situation would solve itself, could not stand idly by any longer. He approached the table, nervously palming his oily hair to lay flat against his skull and clearing his throat between each phrase.
“No, sir, she isn’t coming back. She died,” the manager reported, his chin in his chest.
“Well I better get my meal free then, dammit!” spat Burt. Across the table, his wife wiped a speck of steak from her cheek.
“Of course, sir. Any dessert, sir?”