all-american :: jotaro x reader

chapter 13 :: all-american employee

Autumn was soon to reach its epilogue, with the wind getting colder and harder when it blew and the trees starting to bald more noticeably. Not only, but the oncoming winter was always successful in pulling the tourists visiting for the Autumn festivals out of their hotels and back to the airport.

And before they left, they always had to have a bite to eat in spite of low-budget airline food.

Which explains why I'm wearing a waitress uniform right now.

My grandparents and their small staff couldn't take the weekend tourist rush by themselves, so while Mom is at work, I've been selected to volunteer.

The uniform is quite cute, actually. Though it was made for an actual Japanese woman - which means a size smaller (and shorter), I don't mind my legs sticking out of the black pencil skirt like meaty American toothpicks, and the waitress dress shirt in a blood red compliments my hair quite nicely. Grandma was nice enough to lend me her old apron, and I was sporting the school loafers I had scraped my knees and ruined my ankle for last week, which was not sprained, thankfully.

Though I had to make my own name tag, everything else was going smoothly.

As my grandpa instructed me, my only job was to take people to their seats, take their orders, and then deliver them. The staff cleaned.

I don't know the child labor laws here - I'm technically still a minor since I'm seventeen, but I'm getting paid in tips today. Not that I'm complaining.

To be honest, it was busier than I expected. Either my grandparent's shop really is that popular or this town is that desolate, but I've only been in the job for three hours and I've already lost count of how many people I've served. I have to shout at people just for them to hear me because the inside of the restaurant is wood and it doesn't react well to many people talking all at once.

I had just finished serving one of many American visitors who were delighted I could speak English - wiping off the table and pocketing the tip, when the doorbell rung amongst the chatter of the room, signaling I needed to get myself up there.

I was more than exited to, as well.

I dash up to the entrance, my famous customer service smile plastered on my face. "Welcome back! Come on in!" I bow.

"Cut the waitress shit. I know you."

Hands in pockets, Jotaro frowns, and Kakyoin (who is standing right next to him) gives him a dirty look and elbows him. Jotaro doesn't even flinch.

I laugh. "Nah, It's cool. Table for two?"

Kakyoin does his wide grin. "Please."

"Totally. Right this way."

I lead them to a table, and we weave through customers and past staff.

"Nice seeing you again, Kakyoin," I say, momentarily turning back to face him. Switching my tray from one hand to another, I continue with "It's been a little bit."

"Yeah," he mentions, "a whole eight chapters."

I guess here they count time in chapters, however long that is, but I shrug it off as they take their seats.

I whip out the teddy bear notepad I had brought from home from my apron and the restaurant-issued pen. "So what can I get you for drinks?"
---
The kitchen is one of the only places I can escape the restaurant in between orders. I lean against the counter, where my grandma, among the other chefs, are preparing orders.

"I see you know Jojo," she calmly mentions, keeping her eyes on the tomato she's cutting. I look at her oddly. "You mean Jotaro?"

"We don't ever tell him we call him that." She laughs to herself. "Do you know his friend, too?"