𝐓𝐄𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐒 |𝟏𝟖+ (#𝟏)

𝙾𝙽𝙴 |

01
AMBER JACKSON
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I fucking hate this job.

"No, ma'am, I'm afraid I won't be able to deduct the meal from your bill after you've eaten half of it and simply decided to change your mind," I tell her, refraining from gripping my hands around her wrinkled ass neck until she passes out. I was already anxious and fatigued from my forthcoming exams and the mountains of reading I needed to do tonight, so going to work and dealing with folks like this was adding to my already overflowing cup. The sixty-something-year-old woman was making herself look even more embarrassed by growing louder with me as if that will affect the outcome of the pointless argument. Fucking bitch.

Why would you go to a five-star restaurant when the majority of meals cost about a hundred dollars and choose to be indecisive about what to eat? Stupidity at its finest.

"I've changed my mind and no longer want it. I expect it to be deducted from the check." she shrieks. My fucking God. The privilege to walk into a restaurant and expect things even when you were the butt of the joke was hilarious. I seriously can't wait till I quit, I'm literally on my last straw. Our interaction is now being observed by the entirety of the restaurant; some people take out their phones to record the humiliation of such a situation while the rest shake their head and laugh silently.

I do not get paid enough for this shit.

"So you ate more than half of the meal and then decided you didn't want it any longer?" I ask her to double-check that I'm not hearing things. It's fairly amusing to me that she's the one who yells even when she's clearly wrong.

Privileged older white women.

"Yes. What is it with people like you? Don't you know the customer is always right?" she sneers. People like me?? Bitch what the fuck. My mind races to the amount of times I've heard that saying. Though the mantra for restaurants is that the customer is always right, I don't believe that, especially when you're trying to scam a four hundred dollar bill that will most likely be deducted from my paycheck. "Ma'am, I'm just seriously trying to do my job. So either you pay up or I'll have to contact my manager, who will notify the authorities. It is all up to you." I told her, having been bored with the conversation since the beginning. I turn to go and work with the other customers in my allotted area after placing the plate in front of her before feeling the same plate shatter at my feet.

Jesus be a fence.

She fucking did not. Irritation is clear as day on my face as I take deep breaths to avoid an assault charge.

"You bitch. I want to speak to the manager." she yells. Do I really need this job as much as I think?  I can feel my hand once again itching to slap the shit out of her throughout this ordeal. Respect your elders, they say, but not when they act like a jackass in public.

I turn and walk to the back of the restaurant, giving her a stiff smile. "Angelo, a customer would like to have a word." I say after knocking on his door. The door was dark hardwood with a skinny gold sign outlined in the word 'MANAGER' - a job he did not take seriously. It felt like every weekend, I had to deal with people who had no etiquette, were rude or just simply put classist and racist. Since I didn't have much of a say in where I found a job as a grad student, I took whatever job came my way in the hopes of relieving some of my financial struggles throughout college.

When his door opens, he is joined by another waitress, Brittany, who has smudged red lipstick and what appears to be cum on the corner of her lips. Ew. Given that they both walked in and out of the kitchen area, I'm sure health inspectors would downgrade this restaurant from a five to a three star rating if they caught a whiff of this bullshit. Angelo was adjusting his slacks, and I rolled my eyes, wishing for the day to end for the millionth time. "Amber, what's the issue?" he inquires.