She Used to Have Nails
by Kim Chinquee
She stood in her closet, patrons on the other side, and through the half-door, they'd order tap for cheap and tip her. She wore a T-shirt with the bar name, shorts, and the job was easy, just pour and deliver, pour and deliver. She only worked there some nights, just for extra, and this was like promotion; nights before, she had been working tables, though that wasn't hard: remembering drinks, placing them with faces.
Here, there was a jar, where some guys dropped a dollar. Some only left their change there. The girls, she could forget about. They weren't usually very generous and with the girls, she didn't even try hard.
Her nail broke with the last one. A guy she'd served on the floor two nights before--he'd fallen over, leaving her a fifty. Now, he wasn't drunk yet. "Hi," she said to him, and he looked past her. Behind him was a girl with suspenders.
Another guy who worked there came to check the keg. He tipped it. Then he lifted. "Hey," she said to him. He said, "Hey,” and then he came back with a full one.
Later things got packed. People eyed and toasted. Some sang about a birthday. She took the orders, poured, took and poured, and here and there made small talk. One guy asked if she was dating anyone, and she was, but she wasn't, was, but wasn't. Was she?
There was a line behind him. She handed him a number. He put a twenty in the jar and got out of the way.
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Author's Note
Published in elimae.
great stuff
I like the uncertainty this one ends with.
Thanks, Barry, and thanks Jon!
This is nice, I like the lull and delay of life in getting caught in something, like a glimpse or a kind of mood, and the back and forth of the was and wasn't.
Every word here seems right in its place, to me.
What Justin said; there is a lull and the feeling of waiting, a timing that reminds me of some of your hotel bar and airport stories. Just beautiful.
Thanks, Justin. And Claudia!
This piece captures a lot. I loved this:
One guy asked if she was dating anyone, and she was, but she wasn’t, was, but wasn’t. Was she?
It tells the story so weill within itself, plus it made me laugh.
Thanks, Tim. I'm glad it made you laugh!
I agree with Timothy about the humor in this piece. You're playing so delightedly with rhythm and repetition - the routine and surprise of this work - and how lines - especially yours - always have multiple meanings, and who's in control. The bar's commotion is in the language. Her fatigue is between the lines. And how wicked is the girl in suspenders. I love this, Kim.
I love the way you dramatize -- and find dignity -- in the lives of ordinary working people. Sometimes I think you're the Raymond Carver of short shorts.
Ever notice how in America, servers and such staff enjoy a great mystery and own all sorts of dignity? Customers always want IN. Like, "What's going on with you?" Except among some, maybe most, rich customers who abuse such folks not by ignoring them, but making them warm but dumb doors or appliances or big corkscrews with heatbeats. Great quick story.
Thanks Pia, Gail, and James. Yeah, James, that's right on, about the servers and customers. Like corkscrews. Thanks for the look, and the words.
Love the language play.
It works so well as both prose and poetry. You tell an elegant story in such a short space. This is what I'm trying for. It's hard.