Marianna Hofer The Diner Waitress Tries On Names In the demimonde of the diner she carries greasy food as if it's all she knows to do well. She pulled on, in her past, other names like a blue secondhand velvet coat, loaned it out to boys too drunk for speech yet insistent on a label for her, a way to claim her attentions next time. When they called Lily, Isabella, Magdalena, the air went iridescent, sounds shimmered where the names hung while she said, politely, 'No, different girl, sorry.' She finds nametags left by past waitresses, kept on the chance they might return, want these identities back. Maxine. Claire. Lenore. She pins on Claire, remembers to turn at the sound. Next week she'll try Maxine, a no nonsense sound she neglects to respond to. When she gave it out, her real name opened doors for boys who, like vacuum cleaner salesmen, came in, dumped dirt on the floor, then offered, if only she gave them a modest down payment, to clean it all up; improve her life, they promised, with the latest cleaning miracle, if only she'd act quickly.

Photo: Tina Fanning Detail. Click for full image.

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