Coldflash and Legends One-Shots

Don't Quit Your Day Job (Rated PG)

Summary:

Leonard Snart takes his little sister to the Motorcar diner three times a week. He used to go there to scope out the CCPD, but lately it's to scope out Barry Allen, the most incompetent waiter in the world.

Notes:

Inspired by an item on this list http://www.suggest.com/lifestyle/1596981/30-people-describe-hilarious-displays-of-incompetence/?_fc=1596981&utm_campaign=sug-fbk-m-us-

***

"Oh my God! I'm sorry! I am so sorry!" Barry mutters in horror as he stares at the empty ramekin on the floor, along with the Ranch dressing it had been filled with now staining the lap of his customer's pants. His regular customer, one who still tips him regardless of the amount of times Barry has ruined his clothes.

Though this man (Len Barry thinks he's heard the man's teenage sister call him) just might be a glutton for punishment seeing as he picks the same table every time he comes in knowing that it's in Barry's section.

And he wears all black, which, contrary to popular belief, shows every little spill.

In that case, it's the man's sister Lisa (name emblazoned in rhinestones on the denim backpack she hangs off the back of her chair) that Barry really feels sorry for. She didn't ask to get stuck with Barry, the world's most incompetent waiter, bringing her steaming hot plates of food stuffs.

Which is probably the reason why she's switched from her usual bowl of broccoli and cheese soup to the grilled chicken sandwich sans dressing. With Barry as their waiter, it's the safest meal on the menu.

Barry is luckier than he deserves to have a regular customer as tolerant as this man. Most of his customers tend to migrate silently to other sections of the diner after Barry's first inevitable spill. Considering how empty his section usually is when he arrives for his shift, his reputation precedes him. If Barry's best friend, Iris West, hadn't already been working there for the past three years, Barry wouldn't even have this job.

And if it weren't for a fortunate six degrees of separation, Barry wouldn't keep this job.

Located across the street from the CCPD, the Motorcar diner is a regular cop hang out, and Iris's dad - Barry's surrogate dad - happens to be a cop.

Joe West, however, knows better than to eat there when Barry's working.

"Here ... let me ..." Barry launches at the man with a napkin, trying to blot the goop off his crotch, but the second he realizes what he's doing – what he's touching – he leaps back, mortified.

The man with the soiled pants shakes his head and laughs while his sister, sitting in the chair across from the chaos, rolls her eyes. "It's all right, kid," he says. "We all have bad days. At least now it matches the Coke you spilled on my sweater."

"And the orange juice you spilled trying to clean up the Coke," his sister adds, leaning to the far right to keep her brand new t-shirt out of firing range.

"I know," Barry groans, "I know. I---I can fix your pants if you leave them with me." Barry's eyes pop open when the man snickers. "Or I could, you know, just pay for the dry cleaning." Yup. I'll leave you the money in my will after I crawl into a hole and die.

"Forget about it. Really. But if I could get some silverware, that might help."

"What? I didn't ...?" Barry searches the table, frantically praying he didn't actually forget to bring the man his silverware! That should have been the first thing they got even before their menus.

But alas, there isn't a fork, a spoon, or a knife to be seen.

It's a good thing Barry's only working as a waiter to help make his way through college. Forensic science, for some reason, comes way more naturally to Barry than pouring drinks and serving food.

"I'll ... I'll ... I'll just be a minute," Barry stammers, then scurries away looking like he's about to be sick.

Len watches him leave, following him with his eyes until he ducks into the kitchen. Len hears him let out an embarrassed groan of, "Stupid!" right before the door swings shut.

"Why do we even come here, Lenny?" Lisa whines, scooting her chair to a less sticky side of the table. "I know grandpa took us here, like, a million years ago, but you're not a sentimental guy. The food sucks, and the service here's awful."

"Aw, don't be so hard on the guy, Lees," Len says. "He's doing his best."

Lisa arches an eyebrow. Her big brother usually doesn't suffer fools, even attractive ones. So why is he cutting this guy a break? "He forgot to place our order," Lisa mopes. "We've been in here over an hour."

"We got our appetizer pretty quick," Len says, gesturing to an empty plate that had been stacked with mozzarella sticks forty-five minutes ago.

"An appetizer we didn't even order." Lisa huffs. "Seriously, Len, can't we just eat at IHOP next time?"

They both snap their heads around when they hear plates smash in the kitchen. Their bumbling and apologetic waiter shoots out of the kitchen, followed by a towel that flies through the swinging door and hits him square in the chest. He catches it and spins in a complete circle, locks eyes with Len, then skitters away, red in the face.

"Nah," Len says, dismissing his grumpy sister. "I like the view here better."

It used to be Len kept coming to the Motorcar diner to scope out the CCPD, listen to the cops talk, study their response times when a call came in. But he's pretty much got that ingrained in his skull. He doesn't have to come back here three times a week.

It's the new waiter who's all thumbs that Len can't seem to resist.

"Well, I didn't eat the mozzarella sticks so view or not, I wish he'd bring us our food before my stomach starts eating itself."

"Meh. Starvation's good for you. It builds character," Len says, distracted when his phone, stuffed in his right front pocket, begins to buzz. He takes it out and unlocks his screen, reading the new message from his partner, Mick.

Your errand boy's been made. Safe house suddenly not so safe. Need to find new digs ASAP.

"Damn." Len deletes the text, then shoves his phone back in his pocket. "Come on, Lees. We've gotta go now."

"But --- but we didn't get our lunch!"

"Don't sweat it." He grabs her backpack off the chair and shoves it at her, trying not to make too big a scene. "We'll stop by a Mickey-D's on the way."

"Yes!" Lisa cheers. "Finally! Some real food." She tosses one strap over her shoulder while Len wastes time jotting something down on a napkin. "Hurry up! Hurry up! He's coming!" Lisa grumbles under her breath when she sees Barry heading their way with their food. "I wanna jet before he gets here." Before Len changes his mind, Lisa thinks. If he does, she won't speak to him for a week.

Len rolls his eyes. "Hold your horses. We're going." He pulls out a twenty from his wallet and leaves it to cover their uneaten food. Then he grabs Lisa's arm and races for the door.

"Hey! Hey, wait!" Barry calls when he sees them head out. He sets his tray down on an empty table in his section, preparing to give chase just as Len and his sister bolt through the door.

"Aw, Barry," Iris says, putting a sympathetic hand on his shoulder. "Did you finally scare him off?"

"I ... I don't know," Barry says, walking to the abandoned table. "I don't think so. I wasn't really any worse than usual." Barry picks up the twenty and the napkin underneath it. "Look. He paid for their meal."

"And he left you a note," Iris points out. "What? Did he give you another hefty tip for destroying his clothes?"

Barry reads the napkin, smiling as a hot flush rushes his cheeks. "I guess you could say that." Barry hands Iris the napkin. Written down carefully so as not to tear through, Len left Barry his phone number.