Gunar Vaslovic and the Credit Card

“Hey! Can we get some service over here?”

Nancy stopped combining A.1. bottles and rushed over to Table 25. The blonde in the see-through blouse disentangled herself long enough from her date to pout at Nancy. “This Coke is flat,” she commented, shoving her glass at the server.

“I’m sorry about that. I’ll be happy to get you another. Were you ready to order?”

“I want it now. Then, when you get back, we’ll order.” The blonde peered into her boyfriend’s face, then gently bit his earlobe, carefully avoiding the stud diamond there.

Nancy turned back to get another Coke. As she left, she heard the blonde. “Lousy waitress. Don’t tip her nothing.”

The rest of Nancy’s day went downhill from there. The only saving grace had been the guy she’d seen at the bus stop that morning. He’d taken the 18 and she the express. They’d started up a conversation and Nancy was sure he would have asked for her number but her bus ran a little late and she had to run. As it was, she’d almost clocked in after the hour. He was cute and nice, and her heart sank a little as she watched his face retreat as the bus pulled away.

She doubted she’d ever see him again.

Just after lunch, when she’d served the last biker and picked the quarters they’d left mixed up in the sugar and ketchup mixture they’d left for her, came an odd singing from the diner entrance.

There were three men standing at the door, each under four feet. One wore a black felt fedora, one wore a skier’s cap, and the third was bald as a watermelon.

They seemed sedate enough, and Nancy seated them at a booth.

“Do you serve blowfish here?” asked the one in the fedora.

“No,” said Nancy, placing ice water in front of them carefully.

“Truffles?”

Nancy shook her head, trying not to smile at their red, tiny, outraged faces.

They looked at each other and shrugged. “Well, we’ll settle for escargot.”

“I’m really sorry, but we don’t have that, either.”

The three men began to vibrate in anger. Nancy took a step back as their faces all turned a deep, impossible shade of red and they began to emit a strange, high-pitched humming noise. “EEEEEEEEE,” they screamed at her.

At this point she wished the lady with the see-through blouse was back.

In perfect unison, they stopped as suddenly as they’d begun, and beamed at her. “That’s okay,” said Fedora Hat, with a strange Slavic accent Nancy wasn’t even sure he’d been using before, “We’ll have…three chili dogs! “

“Uh…great!” she said as she wrote down the order.

Nancy prayed to the restaurant dods to please just hurry up with the food. For once, her prayers were answered.

Nancy served them as quickly as possible, and dropped their check off with the plates.

They ate quickly and politely, only occasionally EEEEEEEing and vibrating with either dismay or job at something they had observed or discussed among themselves.

“Anything else?” asked Nancy.

“No, thank you,” said Fedora Hat cheerily, as each of them wiped the next one’s mouth in a tiny huddle. “Do you take credit cards?”

“Yeah,” said Nancy. Could it be they were finally leaving???

“Good. Pay the girl,” said Fedora. Watermelon Head pulled out a card and handed it to Nancy.

She striped the card through her register screen. “Gunar Vaslovic?” It was an Ordly card from the bank of Fester.

Strangely enough, the card declined. Nancy sighed deeply. Getting rid of them might take a little longer. She sighed, walked back to the table. “Sir?” she said, returning the card. “I’m so sorry….it…”

Nancy's palms started sweating as the three men now dropped their

chins to their chests, wailing some sort of dirge in another language. Once again they stopped, then grinned at her with chili-encrusted teeth.

Gunar raised a knobby, huge hand. "This will be all right. I apologize for the delay in payment, most beautiful food-server. I, Gunar Vaslovic, will pay in....will pay in....caaassshhh!!!"

He'd dashed under the booth's table, and now bowed low before her.

Gunar removed his fedora, and retrieved an old sock that smelled faintly of feet and garlic. He removed a few dollar bills and some change. Nancy gingerly put her hand out for the money, trying not to make a face as the befouled dollars touched her slightly trembling fingers.

"Oh, most beautiful food server-- I am devastated that there is not enough currency for a-- how you say--"

"Teep," offered the two friends behind him, still sitting at their booth. They were busily picking the other's teeth with forks.

“That’s ok,” said Nancy.

"Instead, we will give you something else."

Oh god.

"Two weeshes."

“Aren’t I supposed to get three?” asked Nancy.

"Your service did not warrant three, my dear."

She was about to punch them right in their shiny little fat heads, but years of discipline as a server helped her to restrain herself.

"Thank you. I accept your wishes," she said politely. Nancy closed her eyes, pretending to make wishes.

"What are you doing?" asked Gunar.

"Wishing, of course."

"Stupid. No wonder you don't get your weeshes answered. Write them down on the serviette, please."

Nancy opened her eyes. "The what?"

Gunar impatiently grabbed a napkin. "Serviette," and growled at her , baring tiny little yellowed teeth.

Nancy sighed. This time, in earnest, she thought, What the hell.

She grabbed a pen out of her dirty apron pocket, and wrote down: one week off with pay. Then she froze, not knowing what to wish for next.

"You steel have one more weesh. Make it a good one, my dear."

Nancy grinned mischievously and wrote: I wish I could meet the guy from the bus stop again...."

She folded the napkin without letting the men see it.

"Put it in the cigarette receptacle"

Nancy dropped it in the ashtray.

Gunar lit a match, and held it to the napkin. After it had burned, he sighed.

"Commonplace weeshes, but they are yours, not mine. Okay,

Helmut, hit it!"

The bald man leaped on top of the table with a freshly cleaned ketchup bottle in his hand.

"EEEEEEEEE!!!!!" he told Nancy yet again.

She saw what was coming, and tried to avoid the shrieking madman, but he was a second faster than she was, and he clunked her squarely on the head.

The last thing Nancy saw as she faded into oblivion was the three of them grabbing packets of Sweet N'Low, greedily sucking down the contents.

"Nancy, Nancy, oh, I'm so sorry," came a voice about a thousand miles above her. She opened her eyes and tried to sit up, when her head started throbbing as though Fred Astaire was dancing the Carioca in it.

The new teenage cook, Frank, was gently applying cool towels to her forehead. "I didn't mean to smack you with the swinging door, Nancy. Honest,"

"Huh?" asked Nancy, trying to sit up again, this time with a bit more success. "What happened to those dwarf guys?"

"Dwarf guys? Oh, man" muttered Frank. An ambulance is coming. You'll be okay, Nancy, honest. I bet you get a week off with pay for this," he added with a hopeful smile.

"Is someone hurt here?" asked a deep, yet compassionate voice.

"Yeah, this waitress bumped her head, man," said Frank, nervously wringing his cook's whites.

Strong hands gently pulled the towels off Nancy's head. "Nasty bump, but I think you'll be okay...hey! It's you!! The girl from the bus stop." The paramedic burst into a happy grin. "Small world, huh?"

Nancy smiled as she was carried out of the diner. "You bet it's small. We don't even accept cards from the bank of Fester..."

The paramedic stared at her with puzzled blue eyes. "What?"

"Nothing," Nancy muttered, glancing back at the ketchup bottle on the table, perfect except for the teeniest, tiniest chip in it.

The End