by C.J Duggan
***
After what could only be described as a hellish first shift, I sat in the main bar, deflated with an ice pack on my steam-burned arm. My eyes were watery from the pain of clumsily branding myself in my haste, but the watery eyes were mostly due to humiliation. To my utter relief, Melba had taken over the making of the cappuccinos. I worked the floor with Ellie to conquer the more straightforward aspect of taking lunch orders.
I mean, what could possibly go wrong? Apart from not knowing the lunch specials. Or whether we catered for the lactose intolerant. Or if our menu was diabetic friendly. Or if it was offensive to someone with coeliac disease. Was our menu offensive? Christ! Old people have a lot of problems. Of course, I knew none of the answers and my table of eight stared at me as if I was some idiot they wanted to squish with their walking sticks. I tried to take solace in the fact that Ellie knew equally as little as I did, but I heard a chorus of laughter at one point and saw Ellie charming her table and writing profusely. Her table was looking up at her with adoring smiles. I had looked back at my bored death stares.
It took all my strength not to get upset the fourth time I had to trail back to the kitchen to ask the short-tempered cook another question. I didn't know what I feared more - my table, who I had diagnosed with chronic evil, or the psychotic and feisty cook, who would throw pots and pans and swear profusely when things didn't go her way. There was not much of her, but geez she could swear like a sailor and throw a heavy-duty saucepan with force. The only thing that literally pushed me through the kitchen door and back into the restaurant was Adam and his infectious attitude, though a greater part of me wanted to punch him in the face when I thought back to the very reason I was there. I had been abused by Melba, a busload of geriatric gamblers and a psychotic red-headed cook.
And then a third-degree steam burn. Okay, probably not third degree, but it stung. I drowned my sorrows in a glass of Coke that Chris had placed in front of me without a word. The door burst open from the restaurant.
"THAT was the best shift ever!" Ellie beamed, followed in by Adam who still wore his dish apron.
"Seriously, how cool was that? It was so busy, but good. Made time go so fast, and I even got a tip." Ellie pulled out a five-dollar note with glee.
"Looks like you had a table of high rollers," I added glumly.
It was then that Ellie took it down a peg or two. "I saw you had to return a meal to the kitchen. What was with that?"
"Which time? When it was too hot? Or too cold? I actually contemplated blowing on her meal for her."
Adam winced; he didn't need to have the full account of my nightmare. He was painfully aware of every time I came through the kitchen door with a new complaint. Each time I did, a little piece of me died.
Adam slapped and rubbed his hands on his thighs.
"Well, the worst is over ladies, you survived your first shift initiation. It's all downhill from here."
Ellie clapped with joy.
"Yay." I glared at him.
Ellie smiled sadly at me. "How's the arm?"
I sighed. "I'm afraid I will never be an arm model."
"I'm so sorry, Tess. I know how much you were counting on that to get you through university," Adam said in mock sympathy.
"I was going to be a wrist-watch model. You know, travel the world, but, alas, it's not to be." I shook my head and tried not to smirk.
Ellie couldn't contain herself.
"You're such a dork, Tess."
"You are who you hang with," I threw back.
Adam squeezed in between us, threw his arms over our shoulders, and kissed us both on the head.
"Oh gross, boy cooties!" I squealed.
"Thank you for doing this. It'll get better, I promise. You, me, and McGee are going to have the best summer ever, you'll see."