A Season of Firsts

Chapter 4

The next morning, I'm feeling immensely tired as I drag my feet round the restaurant floor, serving breakfast to the hotel guests. The only saving grace is that I'm not hungover from last night, from drinking loads of water and giving myself time to sober up before I fell asleep.

Me and Sophie, another of my co-workers, a 20-something brunette girl from the States, are tag-teaming the private section in the corner of the restaurant, typically reserved for VIPs or people with very deep pockets. A positive of this, is that the tips are unreal. A negative, is that the customers can be somewhat... unpleasant.

Case in point, one of the current inhabitants of Table 3.

"I asked for my fried egg soft, what do you call this?" The lady sneers at me, demanding answers on why her egg isn't cooked to her exact standards.

She sits with her husband at the large round table, wearing a fur coat that most definitely isn't faux, with designer sunglasses resting on her dyed-blonde hair. I know it's dyed, to cover grey hairs, because I can see her frown line crinkling her forehead from here.

"I apologise, ma'am, I can get you a replacement if you'd like?"

"No, you'd no doubt get it wrong again, I'll have something else off the menu. But I want it now, otherwise my husband's food will go cold before I get a chance to eat mine."

"Of course, ma'am, what can I get for you?"

"Eggs Benedict, but make sure the hollandaise sauce is separate," she snaps.

"Yes, ma'am, right away. Can I get you anything else at all?" I address both of them, her husband reading a newspaper and sipping his coffee, paying zero attention to his wife and her egg dilemma. I'm convinced she just complains for kicks that she doesn't get from him.

"No, that's everything. Hurry up, or you won't be getting a tip."

I take deep breaths as I write the order down on my pad and walk away from the table. You eventually get used to people treating you like shit when you're in a customer service job, but some people still manage to get to me.

"You good?" Sophie asks, having overheard some of the conversation.

"Yeah, all good, thanks girl."

"Anytime. I would offer to take that table, but you have a thicker skin than me."

"Ha, you're not wrong there! You'd be in tears by now," I joke.

She laughs when she replies, "Yep, and you would be consoling me in the staff toilets."

"Right again, Soph," I say, and rush off to the kitchen, praying Martin, our chef, is feeling merciful today.

"Heyy Martin, how are you today?" I say cheerily as I wander up to the pass, which he stands behind, head bowed in concentration.

"What do you want, Addy?" he says, seeing right through me.

"I need this eggs Benedict on the fly, or my head is going to be on a plate instead of the food."

"That bad, huh?"

"That bad," I say, nodding my head in earnest so he knows how much I need this food out quickly.

"Okay, just this once."

"I love you, Martin!" I shout as I stride out of the swinging door.

Not even 5 minutes later, I am delivering the eggs Benedict, sauce on the side, to my delightful guest. As I place the plate down in front of her, she glares at me, and I'm wondering what it is I've done wrong now, before she just comes out and tells me.