Bills

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The man sat, weary but content on a chair in the corner counting his money,

and as I watched his tired fingers nimbly shifting the bills from hand to hand,

I envied him.

I remembered when I would organize my own bills, with ones in front and twenties at the back and the fives and tens resting warmly in-between.

It drove me crazy when I would become so busy at work that my bills would become unorganized and weren't facing the same direction.

Turned upside down with the presidents facing in every direction would slow me down when I needed to quickly make change for an impatient guest.

And for the first time,

Perhaps,

Ever,

Since leaving the service industry I missed being a waitress, if only for a few minutes.

I missed leaving my work at work.

I missed sitting around after-hours with the unforgettable stench of french onion soup on my collar and talking about absolutely nothing with my colleagues as we indulged in shared desserts.

I missed feeling so tired after a day of catering to crazy customers' needs that I could fall asleep effortlessly and lingering thoughts didn't dance in my head.

I don't seem to sleep well lately, and I envied the server's fatigue.

I missed the mundane act of facing my bills in the same direction, with the president's standing in line, one behind another, patiently waiting their turn to be exchanged for other famous faces.

I missed that certainty,

That comfort.

I felt a hollow deep inside as I stared at my server,

sitting in the corner,

meticulously shifting bills from hand to hand,

His heavy eyes wrinkled to indicate his content.

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