Jam and Custard
A one shot that is now no longer a one shot... Sorry

There are several things very wrong with my life. Not the least of which are these:

1) My shower stopped working two weeks ago

2) My last real, heartfelt, meaningful relationship was with Adam Davis. I was seven.

3) My cat has just brought in a mouse, ripping it to shreds, leaving a mess that I will have to clean up. Pronto.

4) My room mate has just trod in said mouse. Damn.

5) I want to be an actress on stage in musicals but have chronic left-footedness and tend to fall over a lot.

6) My job is to ferry food back and forth at Chimmy Changa's.

7) The regulars at the restaurant have started to take bets on how many plates I'll break in one night.

8) I have a blister

9) The washing machine has started to make funny noises. Again.

10) And there is nothing in the fridge but Jam and Custard. Joy.

"So, let me try this one more time. You want," I said, waving my pen dangerously at a rather red faced, beefy American man, "a thrice filled bursar?" I asked hopefully. An odd thing to order, but they were Americans and Tony had started that new menu…

"No. I said I wanted a fried grilled burger. How hard can it be? You call yourself a waitress?!"

"Right, right got it. Sorry. Fried grilled burger. Absolutely."

It could have been a bursar…

I looked around at the rest of the table. The other seven of them. There was no way I was going to check with all of them again. Not on your life. I would just have to hand my indecipherable notes in to Tony and hope for the best.

I retreated back to the bar area of the- well named- bar restaurant (such originality often astounded me).

The three or four regulars were definitely safer than the Americans who were ordering bursars.

"Well now, Anna. It's looking good tonight! I might even loose my bet to ol' Joe 'ere. I make that only two smashes so far tonight!"

I half smiled at the white haired, aging men. The remnants of china were still being swept off the floor.

Eric and Joe were rather past it on the drinking front but came into the bar, on the same night, every week to catch up with each other and 'escape the missus' as they put it.

"So how's your studying goin' gel?"

Bloody awful. "Pretty good thanks Joe. You know, working hard, waiting for my big break."

"It's a cut throat business, acting. But I guess talent an' looks like your's go for 'summin, eh?" He winked devilishly at me, then grinned, showing all his lack of teeth. The old men were old enough to be my grand fathers and were as good as.

"Ooh, 'ere 'e comes, Prince Charming, as all ways." Eric muttered into is pint.

I groaned. I only worked in the restaurant four days a week- the only time I could spare from Uni- but on every single one of those days, without fail, Harvey Eckleston would strut into the bar as if he owned the place. Jerk.

I grimaced inwardly but slapped on my plastic hostess smile.

"Hello and welcome to Chimmy's. What can I get you?"

"Just the usual."

And that was that. The ritualistic routine. The thirteen, tight-lipped words that would pass between us every night, the same as always.

I mean, there was nothing spectacularly wrong with him, other than the arrogance I guess. (In fact there were many pluses; being handsome, rich and smelling good were not traits to be sniffed at. No pun intended.) He was just so… prickly. He would watch me from the moment he walked in to when I left for the night. Anyone would say that he fancied me or something. I thought that at first, too. But after three months of just staring at me and never saying anything? I guess I was just a little creeped out…

I handed over the frothy beer that he never finished and turned away from him, to get the Americans' food from Tony, in what I had intended to be a very professional and distant demeanour.

Unfortunately, I tripped and fell flat on my face.

"Hey, are you ok?"

Oh god, oh god. Embarrassment! The first time the Harvey has ever spoken to me and I'm lying on the floor. Typical. Not that I would care of course.

Wait, is my skirt up?

"I think you hit you're head pretty hard. Maybe you should see a doctor."

Yes, it is. Oh damn and blast.

"You al'righ' gel? Nuffin' broken?"

"Yes, yes, I'm fine. Honest."

I stood up as quickly as I could, straightening out my shirt and pulling down my skirt, not pausing to look at the deep, rich brown eyes that were so god damned handsome and just inches away from me. Hardly paused, anyway.

"Ok, if you're sure." Harvey walked away from me and returned to the comforts of his beer.

My face flushed with embarrassment, I crossed the restaurant to the kitchen where Tony was standing, plates in hand, snickering at me.

"Nice one Anna."

"Oh, shut up!" But I smiled and slapped him on the shoulder. "Um, Tony, what the hell are these?" I said, gesturing to the plates.

"These would be what I could decipher from your notes."

They were American… but pink blumonge? Was that even on the menu?

"I think I'm in for a bit of a roasting…"

"I would say, that's an understatement. Good luck Anna, try not to drop anything."

I hefted the huge circular tray onto my shoulder and making my way through the tables, over to the Americans, hoping against hope that one of them really had ordered pink jelly stuff.

My approach to the table created a Mexican wave of indignation and amusement as they saw the teetering pile of odd foods.

I am so fired.