Page 61 of DadBod
ELIZABETH
“You’ve just been double seated.”
Again?“God,” I growl as I slam down the menus I’ve just taken from my six-top. “Why does Gianna keep doing that?”
Jeriann pats my shoulder. “If it makes you feel any better, Monica did it while Gianna was on break.”
“Break?” Who the hell gets breaks around here? Especially during the rush. “Why didn’t she put them in her own section?” I know for a fact she’s only got two tables right now.
Jeriann tugs on my arm until I’m able to see my new tables. Pointing, she says, “That’s why.”
Shit. Glancing at the new tables, I see a two-top with a boy about sixteen sitting across from a girl in a sparkling gown. I’d guess her to be around the same age. I know I won’t get a tip from the two-top because teens are notoriously lousy tippers. The other table, a four-top, is also going to be an issue. No one at the table is under the age of seventy. Not only that, but they’re regulars and they’re awful to wait on.
“FML,” I grumble to myself.
“Yell if you need help.”
“I will.” Making my way over to the prom date, I smile at them. “Hi. I’m Elizabeth. Can I get you something to drink?”
The boy smirks. “I’ll have a beer. The house beer.”
I want to laugh. House beer? “I’ll need to see an ID, please.”
The kid reaches into his breast pocket and pulls out an ID so fake even I can tell. That’s when I feel him before he speaks. Rome. He glances at the ID from behind my back. “Lemonade or pop?” he grunts.
The boy slumps in his seat. “Lemonade.”
“Here you go, Elton.” I hand the ID back to the kid. I want to tell him it’ll never work. I mean, “Elton John Doe” is the name on the thing. Whoever made that for him is still laughing. Trust me. Turning to the beautiful girl, I repeat the question.
“Lemonade for me too.”
“Great.” I feel I must ask. “Where are you going tonight?”
“We just came from a wedding.” The pretty girl speaks first. Rolling her eyes, she states, “My sister’s.”
The boy adds, “It was a shit show.”
The urge to laugh is strong. I’d like to know more, but one of the men from my geriatric table is snapping his fingers.
That’s what I said… snapping.
“I’ll be right back with your lemonade.”
The table with the four older people is worse than usual. The women had an enormous amount of special food requirements. I had to go get Antony to speak to them.
Antony hates speaking directly to customers. Well, maybe hate is the wrong word. Despises is probably better, stronger. And if you ask him to do it, he holds it against you. But it couldn’t be helped. Rome was swamped at the bar. I didn’t want to bother him. Besides, that’s Antony’s job. Right?
Right.
“This pasta is hard.” I hear the woman as I pass the table. Turning, I look at her dish. “Al dente. The pasta is al dente. It means ‘To the tooth.’ It’s supposed to be firm.”
“It’s hard. As are the vegetables. I’d like one that’s softer.”
FML. I want to say it out loud, but I keep it to myself. Picking up her dish, I smile. “I’ll take care of it. Back in a moment.” Antony is going to blow a gasket, and he’s going to blame me.
“No.” Antony shakes his head. “I will not make her another dish.”
“Antony,” I whine. “She’s old. She probably has dentures and can’t chew it.” I have no idea if any of that is correct, but I need for him to make another dish.