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Chapter Four
Alana
ALANA MEYER:
Hey sluts! I have to reschedule our Sunday morning video chat. We have a mandatory meeting at work with the franchise owner. I know what you’re thinking, WOW THAT’S SHORT NOTICE. Yes, yes, it is. I just got the update on the scheduling app TWENTY FUCKING MINUTES AFTER I GOT HOME FROM WORK. IT’S ONE IN THE MORNING.
RICOLE ANDERSON:
Are you kidding?! We were going to set our phones up and watch 8-mile. I’ve been practicing my freestyle. I call Rabbit this time.
ASHLEY MILLER:
You need to look for a new job. Fuck that place. That one dude always makes passes at you, that prick that was rude to you, now seven-hour notice for a mandatory meeting? Hell no.
ALANA MEYER:
Yes, I know this. You guys know I don’t plan on working here long. I just need to keep my head down and make as much money as possible. I was fucking lucky to get hired on to be a bartender. They were desperate because they were so short-staffed. Normally, they’d pull a dining room server, but they don’t even have enough of those. At least I’m not stuck dealing with kids all the time. I love you both. I’m gonna go drown myself in the tub. TTYL. <3
* * *
With ten minutes to spare, I turn Greta into the parking lot. The thought of going in any earlier than I need to has me scrolling through my phone rather than getting out of the car. I check my emails, feeling a little deflated because I have received no interview requests about the applications I’ve put in. Bartending pays the bills, but my heart wants to get back into the world of newspapers and editing.
After a few minutes, I head into the store, iced coffee in hand. Sweat threatens to stain the armpits of the oversized sweater I’m wearing. I really should’ve worn something cooler, but I didn’t want to risk sitting and listening to my manager drone on about bullshit with the A/C blasting.
All my coworkers and managers are congregating at tables in the dining room. I hustle to get a seat between Trent and Holly. Trent’s flirtatious, but he’s harmless. I can’t say the same about the dishwasher, Gabe. He always smells like body odor, stale cigarette smoke, and grease, and he always leers at the women he works with.
As I take my seat, Jim begins, “Alright guys, sorry for the late notice. I know none of you want to be here, but I appreciate you showing up. We’ll get started once Andreas, our franchise owner, joins us.”
The meeting begins, and I try my best to pretend I’m anywhere else. I have my phone out under the table we’re sitting at, so I’m only half listening when a hand comes down on the table I’m sitting at.
It startles me enough that I drop my phone and jerk my head up, only to make eye contact with Mr. Asshole from last night.
“What’s your name?,” his deep voice asks.
It’s incredibly difficult to keep my eyes from rolling into the back of my head, but I manage.
“Alana,” I say.
What the actual fuck is this cockwad doing here?!
Seeing the surprise written all over my face, he answers my unasked question. “I know we met briefly last night, but I didn’t get the chance to introduce myself. My name is Andreas Rivera. I’m the franchise owner of this Hometown Wings and Beer location, as well as twenty-two others in the United States.” He gives me another dirty look. “You dropped something under the table.”
He looks away from me and continues talking.
“I’m vastly disappointed in the way this store is presenting itself to our guests. I made a surprise visit last night, and it took twelve minutes for our hostess to notice I was in the waiting area. While waiting to be seated, I noticed the sports memorabilia near the entrance needs to be dusted, and the floors are in desperate need of detailing. Once I sat down, the first word I heard my server say was ‘fuck,’ and she was standing directly beside a family with young children. My food came out almost inedible, and I had to wait twenty minutes to cash out and leave.”
He glares at me after he finishes airing his grievances. Holly elbows me and whispers, “Jesus Christ, what did you do, Alana?”
I glance around nervously, ignoring Holly’s questions. I notice how the black carpet needs to be cleaned, and the tables we are currently sitting at have vinyl that’s peeling off in spots.
Andreas the Asshole continues, “This store is one of the highest-performing stores in my entire franchise. I will not sit by and watch entitled, rude staff run it into the ground with laziness and ineptitude. From today until next Sunday, this store will be closed effective immediately.”
All the staff let out gasps, and questions fly.
“How are the servers supposed to make money?”
