M A X W E L L

don't bite too hard

M A X W E L L

1

The sun is just about falling to its demise as flocks of teenagers noisily rush in with piercing laughter, eager to exploit the bottomless hot chocolate special. I hate working on Fridays as it is the unavoidable, overwhelming welcome to the weekend, characterised by a sickening chirpiness and a pep in everyone's step. Specks of sweat tickle my forehead as I throw muffins into the warmer, in the glass display upfront. I then rush to the tables of chatty coffee drinkers, jotting down numerous orders as I go. Summer is late for her shift again, leaving me no choice but to alternate between barista and waiter like a headless chicken.

God I hate Fridays.

Skillfully, I carry out three orders at a time from the kitchen which I serve customers, earning grateful smiles, especially from the elderly. Despite my distaste for being a waiter, I always prefer serving senior citizens. They always know what they want and although they often suffocate me with unwanted, friendly chit chat, I'd take that over ill-manners or indecision any day.

Which explains why I'm indiscreetly avoiding a table of high schoolers, desperately awaiting Summer to waltz in, in all her purple haired glory to rescue me and attend to them before I am eventually forced to. I'm clearing unoccupied tables of dirty mugs and muffin wrappers, when a gravelly voice, mockingly calls out from behind me, "Hey waiter, are you planning on taking our orders any time this year?"

The sound of condescending laughter erupts from the table of teenagers and with great nonchalance, I continue to wipe the table, not bothering to turn around in an attempt to keep my cool.

''Are you deaf or something?" the same voice calls out again.

I inhale deeply, fighting the urge to retaliate.

"Deaf and dumb, it seems," he snickers.

God help me.

"Hello? Mr apron, we're starving here, care to actually do your job?"

This kid is really gnawing at my patience.

Maxwell, calm down, he's not worth the time or energy.

I repeat the mantra to myself, hoping the conditioned air rushes in to weaken the volcanic flames brewing deep within me. I close my eyes for a split second, a futile attempt at meditation. Perhaps it's the curiosity or anger that gets the best of me, but I turn around to see the culprit in the flesh.

"Since you're clearly useless, I suppose the manager will be of better use to me," the big boned school boy adds threateningly with a self-satisfied smirk.

I watch as he grabs one of the promotional flyers from the table which he scrunches into a ball, looks me straight in the eye before skillfully tossing it across the room. It bounces off my chest and falls to the ground to crawl under one of the tables.

"I was actually aiming for your face," he says smugly, with a pretentious shrug of the shoulders.

The fucking audacity.

My blood is nearing boiling point as I make my way to the front, where I grab a few menus and thereafter take purposeful strides to the table of amused teenagers and crouch slightly, with clenched jaw and piercing glare.

''Listen here you attention seeking piece of shit, I am not one of your ass sucking friends and I am definitely not your fucking mother, I will break your teeth faster than you think, faster than any of you can blink," I warn bitterly before slamming the menus on the table, causing him to flinch, his green eyes bathing in unease.