Bathroom Monologue: Previously On #001

Previously on the Bathroom Monologues...

A girl woke up with questions.

A waitress dressed as she pleased.

And gravity turned against us.

And now...



It took Wendy fifteen minutes to make it to the diner down the street. She held onto the neighbors’ bushes and made a slow go of it, watching as cars hit the mid-street speed bump and floated away, their drivers honking angrily. She waved with one hand, but held onto shrubs and mailboxes with the other.

Once inside the diner she happily drifted up to the ceiling, kicking off it with her slippered feet and landing on one of the tables. She scurried across it, navigating the edge until she could scoot her legs under the table. Then she was secure, though she kept at least one hand gripping the booth’s cushions at any given time.

The diner was almost empty, save a group in the far corner. There were tall men, all old and in beat-up clothes. One had a raven on his shoulder and seemed to be talking to it. Wendy wondered how much the raven understood. The tone of their conversation was grumpy, though all seemed relaxed, none apparently bothered by the lack of gravity in the town today.

After a moment, someone popped out from the kitchen. It was a stocky woman wearing an eye patch and a blue military uniform. She carried a menu under one arm and walked cheerily towards Wendy’s table. Wendy stared, asking before the woman had even circled the counter.

“How can you walk on the floor?”

The one-eyed woman chuckled, one hand gripping the edge of Wendy’s booth.

“Restaurant floors get pretty sticky from spills and people not wiping their shoes. I haven’t mopped in a while.” She deposited a menu in the girl’s lap, instructing, “Don’t let go of that. Lot of menu-related injuries today. I knew we should have put rounded corners on them.”

Wendy braced her knees under the table, gripping the menu to her chest. She looked over the woman’s uniform again.

“Are you a marine?”

“No, honey,” the woman smiled. When she smiled her eye patch got stuck over her cheek and rode up, like a giant eyebrow. “I’m your waitress.”

“Waitresses don’t dress like that.”

“They let me dress up however I please, and I wanted to be an astronaut today given current events.”

“But you’re wearing marine clothes.”

“A navel officer, actually. I don’t have any astronaut suits and this was the closest I could get.”

Wendy frowned, then shuffled through the menu.

“Can I have pancakes?”

“You sure can, but it may take a while. Fred hasn’t got the reflexes down yet and they keep floating away when he flips them.”

“He should use a second spatula to keep them in check.”

Wendy flattened her hands and mimed one spatula hovering over the skillet, slapping down any imaginary pancakes the other hand flipped up. Her waitress laughed.

“Capital idea, honey. I’ll tell it to him with your order. For now, here, take this.”

The waitress reached under the booth and produced a pink nylon tether. One end was fixed to a table leg, and she tied the other to Wendy’s right ankle.

“Compliments of the chef, so you don’t drift away while you wait.”

“That’s a good idea,” Wendy said, running her fingers over the nylon.

“They’ll probably be mandatory by law in a week,” the waitress said. “If the weather doesn’t clear up.”

“Is this weather?” Wendy tilted her head out the window. It was mildly overcast out. Could that nullify gravity?

“What else could it be?” the waitress asked back, heading to the kitchen. Her shoes squelched on the sticky floor, and Wendy thought she heard her making Darth Vader breathing noises.