Dean didn't even offer a quip about Fred's tightness with a buck and his moth-eaten purse as the old man called over a waitress to do the duties.
The young college-aged waitress inserted the tack, placed a quarter beneath it for weight and sounded a horn to call attention.
The waitress approached the table.
The waitress nodded and left them.
A waitress wearing a lace cap denoting her Pennsylvania Dutch heritage seated him at a small corner table by the window.
I have this night waitress job now; it isn't so bad.
No waitress ever came near them.
Dean said, a little too loudly, just as the waitress arrived with the ginger ales.
He started to lean toward Cynthia but the waitress was at his elbow.
A waitress neared them but beat a quick retreat when she heard their strained tones.
Sliding into his side, he caught the eye of a waitress and motioned to her.
The waitress arrived with their food and placed it before them.
He glanced up as the waitress delivered their food.
At the bistro where she was a weekend waitress, she saw the same friends meeting up for coffee every Saturday.
She could waitress or bartend again, good gigs that could bring in tip money.