different tomorrow, if that helps,” I tell her and look around for more plates. Maybe if I assist her in putting things on the tables, she’ll realize I’m needed here.
“You don’t talk like you’re from here. Where are you from anyway? Your accent says Idaho farm girl, am I right?”
“Really? I have an accent?” I’m a bit surprised.
Leila tosses the next handful of cutlery a bit too far on a table and a knife falls onto the floor. She bends down, blows off some dust, and puts it back on the table.
“Not an accent, exactly, but you talk different. I’m guessing if it’s not Idaho, then it’s somewhere in the Mid-West. Utah? North Dakota?”
I ignore her question, staring in horror at the knife she just placed back on the table. “Um, are you sure you shouldn’t wash that? The floor can’t be all that clean and . . .” I trail off at her expression.
Leila shakes her head and says, looking upward, “Of all people, the newbie had to be a clean freak.”
I flush, a bit embarrassed. Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything, but still, don’t people expect their restaurants to be clean when they go in? “I didn’t mean to offend you . . .” I begin, but Leila holds up a hand to silence me.
“I get it, okay. I was like you once upon a time, too. But you’ll find out soon enough. Gary, the cook in the kitchen? He doesn’t wear a hairnet. And I think it’s a bit questionable if he ever showers. The food isn’t fit for human consumption, but the prices are good and we usually have a crowd, especially for dinner. So little things like dirty forks don’t end up mattering. All that matters is we serve the customers, they don’t notice the mouse traps in the corners and Max is happy. Got it?”
I grimace. “Mouse traps?”
“Just be grateful the cockroaches are gone for the time being.”
I feel a little dizzy. “Look, maybe I’m in the wrong place. I’m not very good at things like this. I like things being clean and, and neat and, well, not mice-infested. I think I’m in the wrong job.”
Leila smiles at me and for the first time it seems genuine. “It’s Carley, right?”
“Kennedy,” I reply with hesitation.
“Kennedy. Right. I think I prefer newbie. Anyway, don’t let my orientation freak you out. This isn’t a bad place. Max is a bit of a tool and Gary is nasty, but the customers who come in are nice enough, usually, and it’s a job. Even when people all over America are losing jobs, Max will never fire us. We’re safe here, you know? So just give it a shot. You’ll fit in all right.”
I smile back. Sure, my feet hurt, my back is starting to spasm, and it’s only nine o’clock, but I have an ally, albeit a reluctant one.
“So what do I do, then?”
Leila laughs shortly. “All you need to do is greet the customers, ask for their orders, give them drinks first, make sure they have all the food they need, and then have them pay at the cash register. Max mans that booth, so you just need to get them to him. He’ll be in around nine fifteen, before anyone has to pay. Food comes from the kitchen. After you get an order, you go tell Gary what they want. He makes it, you carry it back out. Simple.”
“Got it.” It sounds easy. I can do that.
The door opens and light spills into the room. “Mornin’, Gary,” Leila says with barely a glance over her shoulder.
Gary is a stoop-shouldered man with a black beard that is starting to go gray. He looks over and grunts, “Hi.” He walks back into the kitchen area and I hear pans banging around.
Leila winks at me. “He’s not the most social of men. But considering his personal hygiene, that is a good thing, trust me.”
Leila looks up at the clock on the wall. “Nine o’clock. Let’s get the lights on, you get changed into your uniform and then come on back out here. We usually get a dozen people or so for breakfast. Sound good?”
“Everything except having to put on this uniform.” I wrinkle my noseand go
“You don’t talk like you’re from here. Where are you from anyway? Your accent says Idaho farm girl, am I right?”
“Really? I have an accent?” I’m a bit surprised.
Leila tosses the next handful of cutlery a bit too far on a table and a knife falls onto the floor. She bends down, blows off some dust, and puts it back on the table.
“Not an accent, exactly, but you talk different. I’m guessing if it’s not Idaho, then it’s somewhere in the Mid-West. Utah? North Dakota?”
I ignore her question, staring in horror at the knife she just placed back on the table. “Um, are you sure you shouldn’t wash that? The floor can’t be all that clean and . . .” I trail off at her expression.
Leila shakes her head and says, looking upward, “Of all people, the newbie had to be a clean freak.”
I flush, a bit embarrassed. Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything, but still, don’t people expect their restaurants to be clean when they go in? “I didn’t mean to offend you . . .” I begin, but Leila holds up a hand to silence me.
“I get it, okay. I was like you once upon a time, too. But you’ll find out soon enough. Gary, the cook in the kitchen? He doesn’t wear a hairnet. And I think it’s a bit questionable if he ever showers. The food isn’t fit for human consumption, but the prices are good and we usually have a crowd, especially for dinner. So little things like dirty forks don’t end up mattering. All that matters is we serve the customers, they don’t notice the mouse traps in the corners and Max is happy. Got it?”
I grimace. “Mouse traps?”
“Just be grateful the cockroaches are gone for the time being.”
I feel a little dizzy. “Look, maybe I’m in the wrong place. I’m not very good at things like this. I like things being clean and, and neat and, well, not mice-infested. I think I’m in the wrong job.”
Leila smiles at me and for the first time it seems genuine. “It’s Carley, right?”
“Kennedy,” I reply with hesitation.
“Kennedy. Right. I think I prefer newbie. Anyway, don’t let my orientation freak you out. This isn’t a bad place. Max is a bit of a tool and Gary is nasty, but the customers who come in are nice enough, usually, and it’s a job. Even when people all over America are losing jobs, Max will never fire us. We’re safe here, you know? So just give it a shot. You’ll fit in all right.”
I smile back. Sure, my feet hurt, my back is starting to spasm, and it’s only nine o’clock, but I have an ally, albeit a reluctant one.
“So what do I do, then?”
Leila laughs shortly. “All you need to do is greet the customers, ask for their orders, give them drinks first, make sure they have all the food they need, and then have them pay at the cash register. Max mans that booth, so you just need to get them to him. He’ll be in around nine fifteen, before anyone has to pay. Food comes from the kitchen. After you get an order, you go tell Gary what they want. He makes it, you carry it back out. Simple.”
“Got it.” It sounds easy. I can do that.
The door opens and light spills into the room. “Mornin’, Gary,” Leila says with barely a glance over her shoulder.
Gary is a stoop-shouldered man with a black beard that is starting to go gray. He looks over and grunts, “Hi.” He walks back into the kitchen area and I hear pans banging around.
Leila winks at me. “He’s not the most social of men. But considering his personal hygiene, that is a good thing, trust me.”
Leila looks up at the clock on the wall. “Nine o’clock. Let’s get the lights on, you get changed into your uniform and then come on back out here. We usually get a dozen people or so for breakfast. Sound good?”
“Everything except having to put on this uniform.” I wrinkle my noseand go
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