|On The Floor
Author: elevenfiftysix PM
My friend Ret wrote this story from the perspective of the girl at the table, and I had to rewrite it for Writer's Craft. Just a short vignette in a restaurant.Rated: Fiction K - English - Humor - Words: 740 - Favs: 1 - Published: 05-24-12 - id: 3025383
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
"Oh my GOD." I said under my breath.
I had been watching Alonso pick his way through the tables, so I had a great view of him tripping over his stupid shoes, and dumping his entire platter on some posh bloke and his obnoxious girlfriend. Not the best decision for a new hire still in his probationary period.
The man was spluttering furiously, but seemed unable to form any coherent sentences. Maybe his rage would have been impressive in other circumstances, but the bit of cheesecake slowly sliding down his face just made him seem mildly ridiculous. The girlfriend, however, seemed to have no such difficulties.
(I couldn't see what she was mad about, really. That horrible dress could only be improved by cake stains.)
"You idiot!" she shrieked, jumping to her feet and inadvertently drawing the attention of anyone who hadn't yet noticed the carnage. "Look at what you have done!"
Standard fare, really. Probably trying to impress the posh boyfriend by being rude to the 'hired help'. Nothing I haven't seen before.
"Ma'am, this wasn't my fault." Alonso said. "It was yours."
I dropped my reservation book. What? What the hell was he playing at?
"How in God's name could you say it's my fault!" the girl shrieked in an impossibly higher register. For once, the rich idiot had a point. Where did Alonso get off? Had he never heard that 'the customer is always right'?
In a tone that made me want to slap him, he continued. "Your foot was out on the floor further than it should have been. You tripped me."
I had to physically grab the hostess stand to keep myself from stalking over there and slapping some sense into the fool. I can't start a fistfight on the floor of Rosarios, I repeated to myself. His job is sunk, I'd best not drag myself down with him.
"My foot was right under the table!" she said indignantly. "How dare you make that excuse. You're a clumsy oaf, simple enough!"
I exchanged an incredulous glance with Ellie, the only other server on the floor. She was trying to get her customers' attention to ask them if they wanted drinks, but they were wholly absorbed in the scene unfolding in the corner. Couldn't blame them, really. It was like watching a train wreck in slow motion.
And then, when I thought he couldn't possibly make it worse-
"Ma'am, I find your use of words very derogatory towards my moral character. You'll be hearing from my lawyer in the morning."
I was dimly aware of my jaw hanging at about the level of my navel, but I couldn't summon the focus to shut it. He didn't just say that. That could not have just happened. He's seventeen, where is he going to get a lawyer? What the hell is wrong with him?
Apparently reading my mind, he turned and walked away from the be-caked pair. I could have cheered if he'd left about a minute earlier, but the damage was already done. I hope he'd enjoyed his stint as a waiter here, because I couldn't see Mr. Rosario standing for this rubbish.
Actually, that's a lie. I didn't hope he'd enjoyed anything.
"You can expect a call from my lawyer in the morning too!" The girl yelled after him. Great! Just magnificent. If we all lost our jobs because of that... imbecile, I was going to break into his house and murder him in his sleep.
"Let's get out of here." said the boyfriend, apparently having finally regained his wits. "I'll drop you off at home, and you can get freshened up."
They got out of their booth, and stalked out of the restaurant. I could only watch helplessly as they passed.
Slowly, the conversations started up again. Checking to see that no customers were coming in the door, I locked up the stand, and headed to the back. Ellie nodded to me as I passed. "Give 'im hell." she whispered to me.
Entering the kitchen, I grabbed the nearest handle. It happened to belong to the sautee pan, still covered in grease from its last use. I ignored that.
"ALONSO?" I yelled, once I was sure the door had shut behind me. "I AM GOING TO KILL YOU!"