Woman who takes restaurant orders

Usage examples of waitress.

It was a segment of a video taken eight months before, at the wedding of Baculum and his twelfth wife, a twenty-three-year-old part-time waitress at a highway restaurant outside of Mobile, Alabama.

A waitress whose fingers each luminesce a different color takes their orders: Bonny a mojito, Katelyn white wine.

A waitress remembered they walked out together, Brame and the other guy.

A waitress without being asked brought Brose a glass of citron presse which he despatched in a long smooth swallow.

The chief prosecutor made the introductions, one by one, in the formal Japanese manner, while waitresses in kimono and obi circulated with glasses of Louis Roederer champagne, beluga malossol caviar, and toro, the fat-webbed sushi Japanese loved.

Signor Mantissa waylaid a waitress, who set down four liters of beer on the table.

Everything had the sound of money: the nervous laughter that rang like clinking credits, the electric babble that rose and fell with the familiar rhythm of market-day bartering all over the galaxy, the voices of bartenders and waitresses selling eyeblasters and pallies at prices ten times normal.

The waitresses and bar staff were pretty young women and pretty boys, working with a kind of rising intensity, serving the early, preshow dinner patrons who were just now beginning to flow through the doors.

Carolina Moon and Ora Lee Tingle are just about the only broads you ever ball lately and I think you only do that to be a respectable member of an unrespectable group that gets drunk once a week and gangbangs two fat cocktail waitresses.

To prevent any suggestion of unseemliness, the waitresses at restaurants frequented by students are always carefully selected from among a staid and elderly classy of women, by reason of which the German student can enjoy the delights of flirtation without fear and without reproach to anyone.

In a truly absurd departure from reality, at some point waiters temporarily became waitpersons, as if waiters and waitresses were somehow sexist terms.

The waitress brought more tea, Bids all the time gazing at Eny with a direct shining look.

Then the driver, having completed his mandatory flirtation with the bucktooth waitress, gave the bus horn a sharp blast.

Her father ran off, and the mother is the cocktail waitress at the Candlepin Castle.

Rosemary, a trim, attractive brunette of thirty-eight, was a former carhop who, after a series of waitress jobs and a bad marriage, had opened her own dress shop, the Boutique Carriage, on North Figueroa in Los Angeles, and made a big success of it.