Saturday syncopation

Saturday syncopation

Saturday syncopation A short story by Katelin Hogard   We got food dying on the pass, guys! I need fucking runners! Kyle, you got four ribeyes, 3 hanger and a cauli. Heard, chef. Billy, I got 1, 2, 3… eight poussin all day and three scallops. Heard! And boys after this pick we’re gonna start plating the party. Yes, chef! Owen! 42, 53, 64, 27, 24 and 82. Heard, chef.   It’s like every single table is full of eighth grade math teachers. Rose for days tonight. My god. Do we still have snapper or has that been 86’d? Of course, ma’am. Yes. No, the cabernet is a blend. Yes, Bordeux is the region. Poussin? That will be a young chicken. Think teenager. Let me get you a new fork, sir. No, I will not forget. Oh, I apologize. Let me get that for you right away.   Billy, poussins. Now! Plating now, chef. Owen, start running. Hands!   Ribeye, one. Hanger, two, Cauli, table. Fuck, what Susan? No we’re not splitting the scallop entree. Because that’s stupid. Bring share plates. Anna, I need hands! Scallops, three. Poussin… fuck. Billy! Poussin. Now! Just go with the scallops. Poussin follows. For fuck sakes, dude. It’s fucking chicken. Lets go! Hands! Poussin’s going to four, five and six. Cody, can you carry three plates tonight? Brandon, hands, now! Scallops, one. Ribeye, two. Snapper, three. No, fuck. Just take two. Billy! Poussin for 24! Now! I need a follow! Stay here. Don’t move. I don’t care. Do not move.   Sure. Yes. Of course. No, dessert is not free. Your birthday was...
Smile

Smile

Smile A short story by Katelin Hogard   “17 adults, six kids.” She rolled her eyes, the shriek of children pulsating into her temples without any remorse. It was Sunday, day five of a 60 hour week at the little supper club that’s been around since before her own father could walk. This meant mediocre steaks, a bar full of drunk’s and a dining room that was empty by 8pm. It was year 15 for her. 15 years of this small supper club in this small town that she always promised herself to get out of but never had. A pregnancy at 18, divorce at 22, another pregnancy at 24 and a foreclosure at 27. This place was the only consistent in her life. “Four shots of polish and a vodka press.” Before the words could come out of his mouth a chair fell over, echoing throughout the whole neighborhood. “Hello…? I’ll need those drinks today.” She looked up and just smiled, trying to suffocate him with her eyes. There was a group that had been drinking since 11am in the bar and a private party in the back. Along with that, all of four tables were full in the dining room with daughters taking their crippled fathers to dinner at the only place familiar to them. The sadness within them exaggerated her own but she understood why they always kept coming back. The steaks that were always overcooked, the carpet that turned a darker tinge of shit grey every year, the familiar faces. Everyone always wants familiar. “I’d like a riesling, Mich Golden Light and a white zin.”...
Home not wanted

Home not wanted

The furnace had stopped working again and my toes felt frozen to the kitchen floor. I stood in front of the oven willing it to heat faster and hoping this was just a tiny glitch, a small in-fracture that would cost a tiny amount and I wouldn’t have to pretend like a capital investment was possible because it wasn’t. Nothing made me feel so small than realizing the house I’m living in is as cold as the air outside in November. Wrapping my mind around the square footage and three floors of nothingness I had acquired brought a chill to my spine. A chill of sadness, anger and long term frustration that I hadn’t been able to shake since moving into this place. I mustered the courage to call a heating company, swallowed the vomit I choked when told the price just to look at the broken contraption in my basement and kept standing in front of the oven doing a mental inventory of everything that was wrong with my life. Two days later a very old man was poking around in my basement and not two minutes into him stepping into the chilly air of my living room did he inform me that it was a lost cause and a new furnace had to be purchased. “I’ll send you our catalog. You’re looking at around thirty five hundred. Not too expensive for a place like this.” Sure, I mumbled to him. Thanks for your time and here’s the money I barely have for you to come poke at a block of steel and tell me I should give...