I couldn't help but feel a little twinge though, when she talked about my blog. I wanted to be a good example for her, to show her that even if you were alone, you could go after your dreams. But there was no time.
Speaking of which, I just barely avoided being late for work. My shift started at four, and the clock literally switched over to a minute past four right after I punched in. I rushed to the locker room to change and get out front. Not only would my boss notice if I wasn't out there, but it was the busiest time of night, and the more tables I could get to, the more tips I got. The restaurant was already full, the Italian-themed dining room packed with customers of all kinds. There were noisy families, old married couples, and young kids on what looked like their first date. In the back a group of high school kids had pushed a bunch of tables together so they could all sit in the same place. I paused to look at them, remembering a time when the biggest problem I had was how to sit at the same table with all my friends.
"Earth to Deira," a voice behind me said, and I turned to see one of my fellow waitresses balancing two trays full of food.
"Sorry, sorry," I mumbled and jumped out of her way before following her out onto the floor.
The night passed in a blur, full of people shouting for me over the din of the restaurant or waving wildly to call me over, even if I wasn't assigned to their table. No one screamed at me, though, and I was getting great tips, so it was shaping up to be an okay night. I made it to the end of my four-hour shift, and was headed for the back when I heard my manager call my name. I turned back wearily.
"Can you just bus those two tables for me over there?" she asked.
"It's late, I've got to go pick up my kid," I replied.
"I know, I know. Just really quick, as a favor? I'll try to look into getting you that shift change you asked about." That was too enticing of an offer to pass up, so I sighed and headed over to the table. Bussing tables wasn't even technically my job, but we were short two people at the moment. And I could spare ten minutes if it helped me get a better schedule.
I filled the trays with all the dishes and set them carefully on an empty table so I could wipe down the dirty ones. I was bent all the way over, trying to scrub some sticky substance off the back of the table, when I heard some shouts of laughter, the sound of someone stumbling, and then a horrible crash.
I froze, and stood up, not wanting to turn around but already knowing what I would see. Sure enough, all those dishes I had just cleared were now on the floor in pieces. I looked up at the culprit, a couple in designer clothes who had apparently bumped into the table. The woman looked ashamed, but the man was already getting a defiant look on his face.
"Sir, are you all right?" My boss, the owner of the restaurant, had rushed over and was now fawning over the man.
"Yes, I'm fine, it's fine. Just have your staff be a little more careful in the future."
"Of course, sir."
I stared at the man, unable to believe what I was hearing. The couple started to move away, but I heard my own voice say, quite loudly, "I didn't knock those dishes off."
The man stopped and turned around. My boss suddenly looked nervous.
"Are you implying that I did?" the man said. The woman next to him tugged on his arm. "Let's just go," she said, but he shook her off.
"I'm just saying it wasn't me." I stuck my chin out defiantly.
He turned to my boss with his nose in the air and his entitlement on full display.
"What kind of rude staff do you employ that speak to customers this way?"
My boss turned to me and my heart sank. He was the kind of man who catered to the few rich clients we had, convinced that if he could only cultivate enough of them, his establishment could become upscale. It was his number one rule that the customer was always right. I don't know what made me break it. It was the end of the night, and I was tired, and maybe deep down I was still mad at those kids for telling Makayla it was bad that she didn't have a father. But usually, I could control myself. Something had just snapped tonight.
My boss looked me over, and I suddenly knew what was coming. He turned back to the customer and said, "We don't employ them, sir. Deira, please turn in your apron. You're dismissed."
Dismissed? What did he think this was, some English manor where I was a scullery maid? I should have taken it coolly and then begged him for my job back after the couple left, but the use of that word,dismissed, just sent me over the edge. I ripped my apron off.
"And leave your tips," he said.
"Excuse me?"
"We'll divide them among our waitstaff that didn't insult our guests."
White hot rage coursed through me. Well, if I was going down, I might as well go down swinging. I took the pile of bills from my apron pocket, threw the apron on the floor, and stuffed the bills in my pocket.
"Sue me for them, okay?" I practically shouted, and then stormed out of the dining room.
Luckily, I had almost nothing in the lockers in the back, so I had everything gathered and was out the door before any of the other waiters knew what happened. The last thing I needed was sympathy which veiled a strong air ofat least it wasn't me.
By the time I got to my car I was already crying hot tears of rage and disappointment. Rage because it was so unfair, but disappointment in myself, because Iknewit was unfair. That was the game, and I was supposed to play it. Now I don't have a job. No matter how good the tips were, they wouldn't last Makayla and I long, and my other job wouldn't even cover half our bills.
I yanked open the car door, mad at myself and mad at the world. Without thinking, I got in and sped out of the parking lot. I didn't care where I went, so long as I got far away from where I was.