by Hannah Retallick
double espresso decaf
No, you may not
switch the chips for spinach, or remove the sauce, or double the amount of
chicken. I won’t say this, of course, because the customer is always right, blah
blah blah. And as we all know, speaking the truth doesn’t result in big tips.
You’re welcome,
kind Sir. Merrrrry Christmas. And thanks, you’re pretty too. In fact, that’s all
that really matters, isn’t it? Even after I agree to constructing your sad
little meal, you absolute -
My mum used to say
if I didn’t work hard at uni, I might end up cleaning toilets. Well, I’m working
hard at uni, and cleaning toilets sounds divine. Lock the cubicle door, spray
lemon stuff at the bowl, headphones on…
Focus,
Caroline.
Wait, you’re not
ordering yet? Then why do I have to please wait a moment please dear?
No, the olive
bread isn’t gluten free. Bread contains wheat; wheat contains gluten. Does it
say gluten-free anywhere? Damn right it doesn’t, you -
I don’t need to
check with the kitchen. Admittedly, I’ve only worked in this pretentious little "gastro-pub" for three
hundred years, give or take holidays, so what do I know?
I’ll check with
the kitchen. It’s the only way you’ll let it go.
What now? Oh, the
rest of your partly will arrive soon, they’re just finding a place to park and
will be here as soon as possible. Good, that’s delightful to know. I mean, the
room is full of people with lack-of-festive cheer who are eying me up, ready to
order, but I’m all ears for your late-arrival stories.
Of course, I shall
get your double espresso decaf without delay. What the hell? Did I hear that
right? Double espresso decaf…There’s no tip big enough in the world to make that
drink okay, you -
Great, just when I
think I can escape, the door swings open hard. Those are some confident sons of
-
The late-arrival
party. Hello, hello, kisses on cheeks, this is our table, you go here, I’ll go
there, hang on dear we’ll do our drinks order. Haven’t I hung on long enough,
Double Decaf?
Diet
Coke…Sparkling Water with Lemon and No Ice…Just Water Please…And Another Water
Please…Could I Please Have Half Lemonade and Half Orange Juice?
No, Sir, I don’t
need to note your Double Decaf. It’s etched on my mind for all
eternity.
No, this isn’t my
chosen career – thank you.
No, not
Psychology…or Art…or Music. What a fun game! Keep guessing. It will never occur
to your puny little minds that Law students need to eat too. Or maybe it’s my
‘prettiness’ that’s putting you off the scent. Either way, wasn’t there
something I was meant to be doing? Ah, yes, my job. And you can stop fidgeting,
Diet Coke – I could have got you three drinks by now if Double Decaf and Just
Water Please would stop trying to look through my shirt!
Freedom, sweet
freedom.
Thought too soon.
Don’t you click your fingers at me, madam. Why don’t you try looking for the
toilet before asking – it’s literally in front of you. Do I look like a tour
guide?
Yes, I can go back
and get you some ice, Just Water Please. My absolute pleasure.
Finally, a few
minutes away from the Table of Doom. So happy right now.
All good things
etc. Are you ready to order?
Do you need a
little more time?
Of course you
do.
I have a
ground-breaking idea. Why don’t you start studying the menu before the waitress
is hanging over you with a notebook? No? Well, I thought the idea had potential.
This is the table where time stands still. At least I’ll have time to serve
about ninety other people…
No, that’s fine.
Writing down, scribbling out, writing down. I could do this all night. Actually,
I kind of am.
Umm, no, I’ve already put the order
through.
You’re welcome. The chef loves
chucking perfectly good food because you forgot your dairy allergy. And he won’t
give you a roasting (pun fully intended) – he’s got me for that.
It’s not my fault,
Julian. Fate has been cruel to all of us tonight. Stop yelling at me, you sweaty
moron! Caught between a crabby chef and the Table of Doom. Oh, to be a
cleaner…
My wrists are gonna break one of
these days. I can feel them bending under the steak and chips.
Here’s another
idea. Just humour me. When I bring up a dish and say, ‘Spaghetti Bolognaise?’
how about only one of you speaks? No? Oh for the love of -
There you go. Enjoy. Alone at last.
Peace, glorious peace.
Everything okay with your food?
Miracle.
It’s like a competition to see who
can leave the longest gap between mouthfuls. Talking and laughing as if you’re
in a soundproof room, with no one to overhear your comments on work colleagues
and family members and the ‘dubious quality of the establishment’. (This dining-pub isn’t used to that kind of language!) Knives and forks closed. Distressing
amount of food waste.
Anything else I can get for you? Say
no.
Wishful
thinking.
Yes, decisions,
decisions. They’re both nice. Look, strawberry shortcake or lemon trifle? Order,
please. This is not a hobby. I don’t like the apron, I don’t like tying my hair
back, and I don’t like being this circus performer. Please order, just
pleaseeeee.
Uh huh. Cream not custard, ice cream
not cream, custard not ice cream. Sure I got all that.
Umm, no? Strangely enough, cream is
the dairy-est damn thing I’ve ever come across.
I’ll check with the
kitchen.
There you go. Yes, we managed to
find fake cream from a murdered coconut. Enjoy.
No coffee? Never have I been so
grateful to see coats put on.
Yeah, well you
know what, the time to complain was when I asked you if everything was okay with
your food. It’s out of my hands now – I’m not a time traveller. No, no, no,
please don’t put your napkin in the half-full glass, it’s -
Great. And thanks
for wiping the table with your dainty hands, Diet Coke – now try getting all
that crap out of the carpet! Tread it in while you’re at it.
Twenty pence is
not a tip. Who the hell raised you? I’ll give you a tip, you -
Oh, you wanted to
leave more? What a shame you’re out of change…every single one of you. I’ll just
have to pay my bills with good intentions.
That’s it, leave.
Fine then, leave slowly. The people trying to come in love the cold and are
happy to wait for your royal heinous-es.
Haha. Tripped on
the doormat. Well, that’s something.
Right, I’m off to
one of the toilet cubicles. Might do some cleaning; might put the lid down, take
a seat, and have a cry. And then I shall thank the gods of all the gastro-pubs in all the world that I’m
studying Criminal Law; I’ll need it to argue my way out of prison for the
murders I’ve committed in my customer-damaged brain.
All in an
evening’s work.
About the author
Hannah
Retallick is a twenty-five-year-old from Anglesey, North Wales. She was home
educated and then studied with the Open University, graduating with a
First-class honours degree, BA in Humanities with Creative Writing and Music,
and is studying for an MA in Creative Writing. She is working on her second
novel and writes short stories and a blog. She was shortlisted in the Writing
Awards at the Scottish Mental Health Arts Festival 2019, the Cambridge Short
Story Prize, and the Henshaw Short Story Competition June 2019. https://ihaveanideablog.wordpress.com/
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