Special order

A lady calls up.
I’d like a special order
of white fried rice
for my son, she says.
The cook will know what it is.

Pardon me. I have
to put you on hold for a minute,
I tell her, trying to handle
three things at once.

Don’t leave me hanging too long,
she says, I’m on my cell phone
in my car and I’m about to
lose my signal.

She’s a regular customer.
Every week, it’s the same thing,
a five dollar order demanding
twenty dollars worth of service.

I put the phone on the counter.
The man I’m waiting on
picks it up.

This is a customer, he says.
Be patient. This food is so good,
it’s worth waiting for.
He sets it down again.

I’m glad he added that part
about being a fellow customer.
It lends a certain credibility
that I don’t have.