told me to come here just before nine and that you guys would show me the ropes.”
“Your first day?” she repeats, a look of horror appearing on her face. She groans and smacks her forehead with her palm. “Seriously, Max hired someone else?”
I feel distinctly unwelcome. “Um, yes, I guess so.”
She turns her back on me and pulls dishes out of an industrial-sized dishwasher. She piles them on the counter behind her. “I told Max we didn’t need another waitress. I specifically told him.” With that, she tosses a handful of silverware on top of the plates and glares at me.
“I’m sorry.” I hate having to apologize for something I didn’t do, but I don’t feel like I have much of a choice.
She sighs. “Whatever, not your fault. I’m Leila. Christine starts at eleven today. There are also three other waitresses who work the shifts opposite us. Welcome to Maxie’s, where we are underappreciated, overstaffed and, as you will find out, underpaid.”
She walks to a brown cardboard box at the far end of the kitchen and pulls out some ugly fabric, that, when she unfolds it, I see is a dress. Sort of.
“This is the uniform. Used to belong to Linda, the chick who quit here about two months ago. Disgusting color, I know. But at least when it’s a puke green color all other stains sort of blend in.”
I take it between two fingers and sniff it. “Are you sure this has been washed?”
Leila snorts, grabs a pile of cutlery, and walks out the door to the dining room. “Of course I’m not sure. Half the dishes we serve food on haven’t been washed. What’s a little sweat and grease anyway?”
I think I might gag. I hold the uniform in one hand and follow Leila out the door. “Okay, I’ll wash it tonight. Can I just wear my street clothes for today?”
“Not a chance,” Leila grins. She seems to enjoy my discomfort. “One day in a dirty dress won’t kill you, right newbie?”
I shudder, but nod reluctantly. “Fine. I’ll put it on. So, um, what exactly am I supposed to do today?”
Leila places a knife, fork, and spoon on a napkin on the nearest table. “Let me guess. You’ve never been a waitress before. You need money, so you thought you’d try it out. And Max hired you because he thinks your legs are hot in heels. Seriously, who do you think you are, Paris Hilton? Please tell me that those shoes are Gucci knock offs and not the real thing.”
I’m flustered and look down at my aching feet. “Um, they’re real Gucci, actually. But I didn’t know I’d be expected to wear something different.” Suddenly I feel very stupid. So much for making a good impression by wearing nice shoes.
Leila shakes her head and slams some cutlery on the next table. “You’re not expected to, but it’s common sense. Do you think people will leave tips if your shoes cost more than their cars?”
I hadn’t thought of it that way. In fact, until a week ago, I hadn’t thought much about money at all. It always was just there.
My parents were corporate lawyers, both partners in the largest law firms in the country. They’d worked over a hundred hours apiece each week, but what they lacked in being loving parents they more than made up for in monetary allowances. I’d had the cars, the clothes, everything I could have wanted. Except for their love and attention.
But that’s beside the point.
Anyway, after losing a major lawsuit, my dad committed suicide when I was twelve, leaving my mother and me behind with all his investments and a lot of money. Then my mom died in a car crash when I was eighteen, so I had her life insurance and my trust fund on top of everything else. Those ran out eventually, but by then I’d met Todd and he was going to be a huge star. And he was. Games and endorsement deals for him meant more trips to Bali and more spa dates with teammates’ wives, designer clothes, and everything else.
So truthfully? Gucci had just become a bit of a habit.
“I’ll try to wear something
“Your first day?” she repeats, a look of horror appearing on her face. She groans and smacks her forehead with her palm. “Seriously, Max hired someone else?”
I feel distinctly unwelcome. “Um, yes, I guess so.”
She turns her back on me and pulls dishes out of an industrial-sized dishwasher. She piles them on the counter behind her. “I told Max we didn’t need another waitress. I specifically told him.” With that, she tosses a handful of silverware on top of the plates and glares at me.
“I’m sorry.” I hate having to apologize for something I didn’t do, but I don’t feel like I have much of a choice.
She sighs. “Whatever, not your fault. I’m Leila. Christine starts at eleven today. There are also three other waitresses who work the shifts opposite us. Welcome to Maxie’s, where we are underappreciated, overstaffed and, as you will find out, underpaid.”
She walks to a brown cardboard box at the far end of the kitchen and pulls out some ugly fabric, that, when she unfolds it, I see is a dress. Sort of.
“This is the uniform. Used to belong to Linda, the chick who quit here about two months ago. Disgusting color, I know. But at least when it’s a puke green color all other stains sort of blend in.”
I take it between two fingers and sniff it. “Are you sure this has been washed?”
Leila snorts, grabs a pile of cutlery, and walks out the door to the dining room. “Of course I’m not sure. Half the dishes we serve food on haven’t been washed. What’s a little sweat and grease anyway?”
I think I might gag. I hold the uniform in one hand and follow Leila out the door. “Okay, I’ll wash it tonight. Can I just wear my street clothes for today?”
“Not a chance,” Leila grins. She seems to enjoy my discomfort. “One day in a dirty dress won’t kill you, right newbie?”
I shudder, but nod reluctantly. “Fine. I’ll put it on. So, um, what exactly am I supposed to do today?”
Leila places a knife, fork, and spoon on a napkin on the nearest table. “Let me guess. You’ve never been a waitress before. You need money, so you thought you’d try it out. And Max hired you because he thinks your legs are hot in heels. Seriously, who do you think you are, Paris Hilton? Please tell me that those shoes are Gucci knock offs and not the real thing.”
I’m flustered and look down at my aching feet. “Um, they’re real Gucci, actually. But I didn’t know I’d be expected to wear something different.” Suddenly I feel very stupid. So much for making a good impression by wearing nice shoes.
Leila shakes her head and slams some cutlery on the next table. “You’re not expected to, but it’s common sense. Do you think people will leave tips if your shoes cost more than their cars?”
I hadn’t thought of it that way. In fact, until a week ago, I hadn’t thought much about money at all. It always was just there.
My parents were corporate lawyers, both partners in the largest law firms in the country. They’d worked over a hundred hours apiece each week, but what they lacked in being loving parents they more than made up for in monetary allowances. I’d had the cars, the clothes, everything I could have wanted. Except for their love and attention.
But that’s beside the point.
Anyway, after losing a major lawsuit, my dad committed suicide when I was twelve, leaving my mother and me behind with all his investments and a lot of money. Then my mom died in a car crash when I was eighteen, so I had her life insurance and my trust fund on top of everything else. Those ran out eventually, but by then I’d met Todd and he was going to be a huge star. And he was. Games and endorsement deals for him meant more trips to Bali and more spa dates with teammates’ wives, designer clothes, and everything else.
So truthfully? Gucci had just become a bit of a habit.
“I’ll try to wear something
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