How to Fall in Love ✔

How to Fall in Love (4)

Copyright © 2013 by roastedpiglet (of Wattpad)

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c h a p t e r  f o u r

[  h o w  t o  f a i l  m i s e r a b l y  ]

          From serving a lot of people in the course of five hours, I could say that it was enough experience, and for a first timer, I was pretty much beat.

Macy's was closing up—apparently it wasn't for night shift—and while Reese and the other waitress named Megan were cleaning up the place, I was stuck in the kitchen with suspenders-wearing guy, who I later learned to be the manager of Macy's, and half-owner. Why with the second part of his status, I still wasn't quite sure yet.

Clifford expressed a while ago how much he appreciates me switching job roles and saving the rapport of the two waitresses who couldn't be overworked. I felt the need to chime in and demand—so I could be overworked? But I decided against it, and just kept listening to what the half-boss had to say.

"Juliet just called," he was saying while cleaning the table before us, leaving me to be the only one not doing anything. "She informed me she was taking a leave. She has to take care of her mother and her new sister for the meantime." And then he stopped rubbing, straightened himself, and looked at me. "Do you know what that means?"

"I'll have to be a waitress for a while more?" I provided, having a head-start at where this was headed to.

He clocked his tongue in assent. "Yes. Originally I hired you as a whipped cream maker just because I thought you were entertaining, but we're talking about something bigger now. I need to see your paperwork so I can officially hire you as a waitress."

Nodding in comprehension, I mumbled something along the words of be right back, and dashed to my post, snaring my sling bag from under the counter. I took out a file folder—one that contained all of my paperwork, at least, what was left of it—and went back to where Clifford was standing, still in the back barista's kitchen, but now leant against the doorframe. He instantly snatched the folder from me.

He was flipping through the pages without a mark of expression that could give away what was running in his head, and I suddenly wondered if he was a different person from the one I'd managed to talk to when I first entered Macy's—the moment when only amusement seemed to grace his features, and he was as light as a hopping feather.

"Well, it seems you have zero experience in waitressing," he said after a while, his tone calculating. And then, "You're hired." He slid the folder back into my open hands, ignoring my look of utter surprise. "Be here seven a.m. sharp tomorrow." He then walked over to the lobby to see what the other two were doing.

Grinning happily to myself, I eased the folder back inside my sling bag, and was about to march forward, when something caused me to halt. It was a question. I landed myself a job, yes, that itself was obvious, but I still had no income in my hands. My pockets were still as empty as a ghost town.