Dining Out


“Do you want me to call an ambulance?”  The chubby manager of the all you can eat restaurant is seated on the floor next to Peter, the elderly patron, who’s barely had time to settle at the table waiting with his wife, Clara, while their two nieces have gone to the food bar.

“Yes,” Clara nods her head.  Clara’s white hair sits in a bun on top of her head, tears welling up in her eyes.  The manager and one of the girls who work the room at lunchtime, clearing tables and fetching drinks along with bread and butter, laid Peter gently on the ground when he bent over the table and uttered an “Oh, my,” Clara looking helpless.

It’s the thing Clara has worried about most in her life.  “What’ll I do without Peter?”  Now, sitting on her chair while the manager and the wait staff try to make sure Peter doesn’t die on the premises, she thinks the worst is happening.

Clara smiles when the manager, now arranging towels under Peter’s head looks up and says, “His eyes are open.”

“How do you feel?” she asks and Peter‘s eye lids flutter, the first sign of movement since he‘s been on the floor.

People at surrounding tables only stop eating for a second at the start of the commotion.  Now, they resume eating and the trek from table to steam tables.  No one wants to feel cheated.  It isn’t the first time this has happened at the buffet.

“Everyone in there is so old,” Peter complained when the girls suggested taking their aunt and uncle to the restaurant.

“It’ll do you good to get out of the house.”  Clara encouraged him, dressing in her favorite purple dress, something she only wears on special occasions.  “We need to do more outside the house,” she said, putting the final touches on her hair.  Peter says she looks nice, but he’s always said that no matter what she’s wearing.

Clara stares at Peter’s black leather round toed shoes pointing towards the ceiling, white socks showing between the bottom of his cotton trousers and shoe tops.  She should have insisted he wear dark socks, but they’d been running late and she didn’t want to keep the girls waiting. 

“I like these socks,” he told her when she spotted them. 

“Your slacks are too short,” she said, “that’s why I can see your socks.”

“I like ‘em,” he said, ending the discussion.

The girls arrive back at the table, unaware anything is wrong till they’re standing next to Clara and Peter, their plates filled with fried chicken, mashed potatoes and green beans. 

“The ambulance is on it’s way,” one of the cooks announces and the manager shows a visible sign of relief.

“You’ll be okay,” the manager tells Peter and Clara pats Peter’s shoulder.  The nieces huddle around the couple, their food forgotten on the table.

When a diner spots the ambulance, the manager and the cook help Peter back onto the chair.  Clara hovers close by while Peter’s vitals are checked and then he’s lifted onto the gurney.  Clara is grateful not one of them referred to Peter as “old timer.”

“We’ll follow you to the hospital,” one of the girls says.  Clara, glad for the company, even though they’ll miss their lunch.

“We’ll have to do this again soon,” Peter quips as he’s rolled out to the ambulance on his way to the emergency room.

“Not exactly and not too soon,” Clara replies, adding “we need to get you some new clothes.”  And then they are on their way without the sirens.


• Janet Yung lives and writes in St. Louis.  Her short fiction has appeared in Writers On The River and online in Foliate Oak, Terrain and Flashquake.