“I know, Brooke. I’ll hang out until the crowd dies down.”
“You’re gonna hang out at one of my tables all night?” I asked. “You better leave me one hell of a tip. I’m trying to make money here.”
“Relax,” Gretchen said. “Do your job well, and I’ll take care of you.” She winked, and I scowled.
“Hilarious. Really,” I muttered. “What do you want?”
“This salad thing and a Diet Coke,” she answered, pointing to the menu.
“Fine,” and I made my way to the order station. I punched in Gretchen’s order, then went to pour her a Diet Coke.
I started my waitressing job the day after I moved in with my dad. I got the job because I lied about having experience waiting tables, and the manager was so grateful he wouldn’t have to train someone. He repeated that sentiment about ten times during the interview, and I almost confessed my lack of experience out of pure guilt. And fear. No training whatsoever?
I was good at bullshitting, but waiting tables was hard. You had to be quick. You had to remember everything. You had to try your hardest not to piss anyone off, especially your customers. And the hostesses. They wouldn’t seat anyone in your section if you pissed them off. The truth was that I hadn’t a clue what I was doing, but I learned quickly after a cook, dishwasher, and expediter all yelled at me my first night.
“Put the fucking order in the fucking computer, Wright!” Terry, the main chef, had yelled after I asked him why my order wasn’t up for Table 12.
“I wrote it down for you,” I said, pointing to my handwritten order form lying on the counter next to his grill.
“Fucking teenagers,” he mumbled as he picked up the sheet, crumbled it, and threw it in the flames.
“Hey! What the hell?!” I cried.
He pointed to the computer.
“You burned my order,” I seethed.
“You didn’t have it memorized?” he asked.
I flipped him off and stormed out of the kitchen, apologizing profusely to Table 12 for needing to retake their order. Thankfully, they were nice about it and asked if it was my first day on the job. I didn’t expect a good tip and was surprised when they left me a little extra. It was pity change, but I’d take it all the same.
I was caught off guard when I approached Gretchen once more with her drink. She sat staring transfixed, and I followed her gaze to a family that had just been seated. I nearly dropped the glass but refused to take my eyes off the family. Or rather, him. Funeral Guy. Again. Did he know I worked here? How ludicrous, and completely egotistical. I had to keep reminding myself that the world did not, in fact, revolve around me.
“Damnit, Brooke!” Gretchen cried. “You spilled Coke all over me!”
I tore my eyes away from Funeral Guy to look at Gretchen’s shirt. There were two tiny dark spots just to the left of her breast. I rolled my eyes.
“All over you, huh?”
“This is Bebe, bitch,” she replied.
I grinned. “I don’t know what that means.”
“Yeah. Sure you don’t. You better start setting aside your tip money if this shit doesn’t wash out.”
“Oh, Gretchy,” I said.
“Do not call me that,” she warned, and then her tone changed in a flash. “Now, check out that hottie over there.” She pointed to Funeral Guy. My hottie. I already decided to claim him.
I was itching to see her reaction. “Gretchen, that’s Funeral Guy.”
“No fucking way!” she squealed, and a couple with three small children seated near her turned in her direction and scowled.
“This is a family restaurant,” the mother barked.
“No fucking way,” Gretchen replied, mock bewilderment painted all over her face.
“Gretchen,” I said quietly.
The mother huffed and turned back to her husband. I could hear them mumbling and wondered how long it would take the manager to hear the complaint and kick Gretchen out. Why couldn’t she keep her mouth shut?
“That’s the guy you ran into at the funeral?” she asked.
I nodded. “And he’s in two of my classes.”
“I totally hate you,” Gretchen said. “Life is so unfair.”
I shrugged.
“Is he sitting in your section?” she asked.
“No, thank God! I’d probably say or do something totally embarrassing,” I said. “I smacked my forehead on the side of my desk today. He saw it. It happened because he was looking at me.”
Gretchen screwed up her face. “I don’t get it. His hotness made you convulse or something?”
I laughed. “No. He made me drop my notebook, and when I bent down to get it, I smacked my head.”
“How embarrassing,” Gretchen said.
“Yeah, I seem to have a knack for doing embarrassing things around him. I don’t know why he makes me so giddy and stupid.”
“Because you want to sleep with him. Hello?” Gretchen replied. “And now I totally understand why.” She turned back in his direction. “He’s fu—”
“Bleh!” I screamed. “Don’t say that word in here!”