It’s Gonna Be a Good Day - Applebee’s Edition

“It’s gonna be a good day, it’s gonna be a good day.”

I am trying to print out separate receipts for two customers on a hightop. I originally split their meals and appetizer halfway between them as they requested, but one of them asked me to reprint the receipt so that he could pay for the appetizer on his own. Should I have asked them that before printing the receipts? I hear a cook yell from the kitchen. I have a hot food plate ready to run to a table, but I have a glass of iced tea in my hand. The tea is for a table on the higher level. For Denise. One of my regulars. She’s particular about her tea. I was going to drop off the tea, but the customers at the high top caught me first.

I try again to print the tickets, but I realize the printer is not working on this computer. Crap. I run to the next computer, and see one of the customers looking for me at the hightop, probably getting antsy for the corrected receipt.

I see Matthew. One of the hosts. I shake him off, not yet. I dash to the computer. I print the receipts and grab a bottle of Heinz 57. Walking across the bar, I drop off the receipts, one customer has a credit card ready, the other does not, and looks at the corrected receipt with the attention to detail of a tax auditor.

“It’s gonna be a good day,” I think again. “It’s gonna be a good day,”

I feel the iced tea sweating in my hand. I catch Matthew’s eye again. Almost there, man.

The tax auditor finally shrugs and gives me a 50 that I’ll need to go break back at my station. “Please hurry, my break’s almost over.” The auditor adds.

Nodding at the auditor, I finally take the Iced Tea to Denise’s table.

Denise has silver hair and puts down her back as I arrive. She’s retired, and usually comes in before the rush. It’s that in-between time after lunch but before the tables start getting packed for dinner. She looks at me through thick-rimmed glasses.

"One ice cold iced tea,” I say confidently, “without lemon, just like you asked.”

Denise raises an eyebrow, “I most certainly did not ask that. I asked for extra lemon!”

Matthew takes this moment to arrive behind me, and his timing couldn’t be better.

“Which my man Matthew has right here,” I replied. Matthew takes the moment to drop a ramekin of six lemon wedges in front of her.

Denise smiles. “That was sly”

Denise and I chat a bit. Her and her husband used to read here every afternoon. One of my coworkers, Amanda, was kind enough to take my hot plate of food to my other table. That table ordered two steaks. I drop off the Heinz 57 there, break the $50 bill, and run those receipts to the hi-top. In a twist, the auditor leaves me $2, but the other customer stiffs me. Denise more than makes up for them both by leaving a 50% tip when she leaves.

Isaac, Mere & I at the Bee’s

“It’s gonna be a good day,” I think again. That sequence, which captures a couple of minutes of my double-close at Applebee’s, is a microcosm of the day. The dinner rush comes in a wave, and the goal is to survive. I balance having 6 tables at once while sneaking drinks from my can of Rockstar Juiced from the walk-in cooler in the back. By the time the dinner rush is over we’re an hour away from half priced appetizers and the late night rush. I sneak a meal of boneless wings in there and eat out back with Cullen and the other cooks.

It’s a good time. Occasionally I will get a customer who’s a nightmare. I once had a man grab my arm and stick a finger in my chest in front of his family. He did that while cussing me out because we were out of ribs. His family seemed used to it.

But for every one of him, there are ten like Denise. Eventually the night ends, I count out the $127 I made before finishing my side work around 1:15 in the morning. I turn on the song Piano Man for the drive home. I think of the book I want to write. I try not to think of the person who called me the real estate novelist. I instead appreciate my coworkers who kept me from drowning, I think about how I can better lift them in return. Here I meet people, I hear stories, and they make me think of the stories I hope to tell someday. I think of how at the end of the day, we’re all just trying to get to where we want to go.

“It’s gonna be a good day,“

It’s what I tell myself every day, and it almost always is.

My parents are always a table I can count on (picture added on the re-upload to my new website).

• Story originally published in August 2014 from notes compiled in July 2012. Journal republished to my current website in August 2026.