Page 7 of Over & Out
The man makes a sound of deep annoyance, which cools my elevated temperature and brings me back to petty joy.
I wouldn’t normally act like this, even to a rude customer, but it’s been a shit day. A shit few weeks, if I’m being honest. An accident ruined my favorite hobby—my personal therapy source—and has somehow reverted years of personal growth, bringing me right back to the state of mind I was in during the very worst time of my life, after a totally different accident. Now this hungover asshole—whose friend or whatever she is to him—has to offer to pay the server a C-note to make sure he doesn’t act out even more? Not on my watch.
I purposefully block his entrance to the booth as I set the drinks down. “Here you go!” I say cheerily. I give an apologetic look to the woman for not having the drinks ready like she wanted, but she gives me anit’s finelook. I’ve probablylost the tip.
“Can I sit?” the man clips.
I bite my cheek to keep from snappingI don’t know, can you?I take a minuscule step aside, just enough for him to get in.
The booth is smaller than the others. On the evening shifts, when I normally work, I usually have to interrupt people making out to serve them. This morning, it gives me great satisfaction to see this overgrown tree struggle to wedge himself into the space, cursing under his breath as he contorts his long legs under the table.
Once he’s pretzeled into place, I continue to utilize my most chipper server voice. “So, you two need a minute with the menu?”
The woman fixes her eyes on the man, an expression on her face like she’s gearing up to talk to a child. “You think you can manage some eggs, triangle?”
Triangle?I can appreciate pet names, but that one’s weird.
“Scotch,” the man grumbles in a deep, raspy voice. “And fuck you with the triangle shit.”
Anger curls in my chest. He’s not rude. He’s an absoluteasshole.“Hey!” I say. “You can’t?—”
But the woman is already leaning over the table. “Fuckyou,triangle, for showing up hungover when wejusttalked about how important today was. This isyourcareer, not mine.”
Okay, so she can hold her own.
“My careerisyour career, Tru,” he says, his voice low. The words could be spiteful, but they sound almost…apologetic.
Okay, there’s some kind of dynamic here that I do notneed to be a part of. “I’m going to come back,” I say, already backing away.
But the woman’s nostrils flare as she glances up at me, smiling apologetically. “No. We’re ready. I’ll have an oat milk latte, please, light foam, and two poached eggs, medium. He’ll have…eggs. A bunch of eggs. And bacon. No, sausage. Actually, whatever meat you’ve got.”
The man glares at his companion. “I don’t need all that.”
“Aziz says you need protein.”
“Aziz says I need to drink yogurt fresh out of a cow’s tit.”
“Udder,” I say.
Whoops.
The man wraps his hand tightly around his glass. “I thought you said this place was safe,” he says to the woman.
What does he mean, safe? It doesn’t matter. It’s not safe if I’m standing here, ready to slap him upside the head. “So. Dealer’s choice on the meat?” I have other tables to deal with.
“Yes,” the woman says. “Please.”
I turn to leave, but the man says, “No.”
“No?” the woman asks, looking irritated. “Aziz?—”
“Not that. I’ll eat whatever meat she brings me.”
Despite everything, I find it hard to contain the snort that slips out.
“Fuck, that’s not what I meant.” For the first time, the man turns his face fully to me. This time, I completely fail to contain my laughter. His cap saysSASSY. In big,sparkly diamond letters that glitter under the lights overhead.
“Goodness, I thoughtyouwere the fashion horse,” I say to the woman.
