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Calm, sexy, and collected jerks his head up from the menu and makes eye contact with me.
He looks me up and down with contempt. “Enough with the profanity, this is a family establishment.”
The look he gives me takes me aback.
Who the fuck does this guy think he is?
All of my fantasies about the man cease to exist. Of course, he’s a fucking asshole. Nothing dries the lady factory up faster than a stranger admonishing you for injuring yourself.
Narrowing my eyes, I bite back my sarcastic response and say in my best customer service voice, “I’m sorry, you’re right. Excuse my outburst. My name is Alana, and I’ll be taking care of you this evening. Can I…”
“Water,” he interrupts me..
My mouth falls open, but he doesn’t notice. He doesn’t even look up from his menu, and I walk away annoyed, but whatever. Not everyone has an award-winning personality. If I can just get him through his meal and out the door, I never have to see him again. Easy peasy.
The printer next to the POS station beeps incessantly while I enter rude ass’ order. It will keep doing that until someone refills it with paper, so I roll my eyes and do it. Nothing gets done around here, I swear.
My coworker Holly comes up and says, “Wow, Alana. The guy at one thirty-five is a fucking snack. Please, please, please look at his hand and tell me if you see a ring. I want to drop his food off and give him my number. He looks like he’s hung like a goddamn horse.”
“Trust me, Holly. His attitude screams uptight asshole with a wife, two kids, and a micropeen. He told me to watch my mouth and scolded me like a child,” I reply.
I finish pouring his water and seethe. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t consider spitting in it. Lucky for him, I’m classier than that.
I check in with two of my other tables on my way back to Captain Douchecanoe. I lean over and place his water in front of him, along with a straw and napkins.
“Are you ready to order, sir, or do you need a few more minutes to look over the menu?” I ask, laying on the sweetness thicker than I usually do.
I hope it sounds sarcastic. Kill ‘em with kindness and all that jazz.
“A smash burger with a side of fries, no cheese,” he says without looking at me. To add insult to injury, his left hand waves me away.
My feet drag while I take my time going to the POS to put his order in, typing his specifications. The spiteful side of me wants to add extra cheese just to be a bitch, but I don’t want Jim to give me shit. After waiting a full five minutes with his order blinking at me on the screen, I send it back to the kitchen.
If you treat wait staff like shit, your food is going to take longer.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see my manager walk out of his office and approach Sir Asshole’s table. They talk for a minute, Sir Asshole’s face colored with indignation, then Jim turns and goes back into the belly of the beast like a dog with his tail tucked between his legs. God, Jim can be such a pussy. You’d think a career dealing with the public would help him have a little more backbone.
After twenty minutes cashing tables out, getting refills, and doing my side work, I feel Sir Asshole’s eyes on me a few times. I refuse to look at him because I know he barely touched his water. There’s nothing he could need from me at the moment.
Holly carries his food out on a tray and offers it to me. “Hey, this just came up. I figured you’d want to deliver it yourself. God knows I would. I can’t talk to him, or I’ll accidentally ask to suck him off. I need this job, so I can’t be soliciting the guests, micropeen or not.”
She follows her joke with a laugh and leaves me holding the tray. When I reach Asshole’s table, he’s feverishly typing on his phone.
I clear my throat and sit his burger and fries on the faux granite table. Without looking at me, he grabs a fry and eats it. I want to knock the fucking plate off of the table and onto the floor. Lucky for him, and my job, I hold my composure and walk away.
I head to the back to work on washing platters and silverware, since I have time now that the dinner rush has died down. The mundane action of spraying food debris from the pile of dishes sucks me in, and I stay in the back longer than I intended to. I wash my hands and sprint to the front to check on my last two tables.
My table with the family of four is just finishing their food, so I drop their check and walk toward Asshole. For the first time since he chided me about the “fuck” debacle, he stares into my eyes and says, “I’ve been ready to cash out for fifteen minutes.”
His unwavering eye contact flusters me, but I don’t want him to know that, so I respond as calmly as possible. “I’m sorry. Let me grab your check. I’ll be right back. Do you need a box?” I look down and notice he’s barely touched his food. He’s taken a single bite out of the burger, and over half of his fries lie uneaten on the platter.
He pushes the plate away from him with disgust. “I wouldn’t take this home and feed it to a stray dog. I’m afraid it’d give him diarrhea. Just the check.”
What the hell am I supposed to say about that? Clearly, I was right about never seeing him after tonight. This guy wouldn’t eat here again if someone paid him.
I print his check and bring it back to him. He doesn’t even glance at the total, just shoves his card into my hand. Desperately ready for him to leave, I rush his card back over to him and tell him to have a good night. He doesn’t acknowledge me, so I walk away. I glance up and see him walking out the front doors.
Good fucking riddance.
