A random idea I had as I was answering the phones at work tonight, may come out a little weirdly cos I'm reaaaaallllly tired, but I wanna get it down before I forget...
It kinda falls in the short story category, but its long for a blog entry, so if you don't have the stamina either come back later, or don't worry about it.
If you could read it and comment me about it, that would be awesome, but I'm not too fussed.
Have a good day :)
Was that all for you tonight?
'It started as a dare.
It was an ambivalent Saturday afternoon and we met up before work, to grab a bite to eat that was not pizza, or pasta.
We would drink anything that was not coffee, coke or beer.
We would go anywhere but work.
We were determined not to think or talk about it.
So, of course, the first thing we did as we sat down with our glasses of Chinese tea, was say
"Wow, isn't it nice to not be at work?"
There were 7 waitresses at our little cafe, only six of whom worked nights.
One was taken down with glandular fever, another a broken leg, one taking school leave for exams and the other gallivanting across Greece for 5 weeks.
So it was just the two of us, working joint closes, 5 til 10:30 or 11:00 every single night, and we had been for the last 11 days. Until Josie got her cast off (months away), Claire got over the glandular fever (goodness only knows how far away), Stella finished exams and final assignments (another week away yet) or Dannie got back from Greece (four weeks) we were stuck doing this.
On one hand, we'd gotten into a great rhythm.
On the other hand, we were going nuts.
"Seriously, if I have to say 'sorry, for chicken pizzas we have either the chicken supreme or the chicken and pineapple' one more time, I'll smash a glass on purpose."
"Well if I have to say 'sorry we can't do credit card for delivery's' one more time, I'm going to slap someone"
"Well if I have to say 'Have a good night' one more time, I am seriously going to go on a murderous rampage."
"If I have one more fat greasy sleazy old man wink at me and say 'thanks gorgeous' I'm going to set the store on fire."
"Cheers to that"
It was all a joke, in the beginning we were just kidding.
Then we got to work, cleared the tables from lunch and all that setup jazz.
And it started.
One of the more extremely moronic delivery boys ran past the sink with arms full of Party size pizzas and knocked 4 glasses off, sending them hurtling down to an untimely death, only to say 'oops' and leave.
A fantastic start.
Then my headache kicked in, right as a table of 9 walked in off the street, complete with two screaming toddlers.
Gee, thanks, you shouldn't have.
Then said toddlers spilt three full glasses of coke all over the table cloth, the garlic bread, themselves, their highchairs, and the floor.
And we ever so
honestly calmly say
just great OK, I hate you it's fine'
And clear up.
As I'm walking away with the dripping table cloth, I hear a smash.
Gee, thanks. You shouldn't have.
As I return from fixing it up yet again, I see the pile of take away orders, banked up already.
And so, at only half past 5, we entered a whirlwind of complaints, mistakes, grumpy customers, broken fridges, empty bottles, declined credit cards, screaming children, melting gelati, devastating heat, and always, always the noise.
Whirring, crying, beeping, humming, throbbing, chinking, talking, bitching, scraping, piercing
Normally, the level of busy-ness is fluctuating, with lower points within the peak, it comes in waves. Tonight was turning out to be be one big endless wave. One table of 3 would leave, the second they did so, someone arrived wanting a table of four, run out and clear it and round the cycle goes, never stopping, never getting easier.
Until at 9:45, after four and a quarter hours of ceaseless rush, one particular cocky, sleazy, dust for brains guy pushed me over the edge.
"Would you like that American hot or mild?"
"Oh definitely hot. Hot, blonde, around nineteen, drunk and easy."
Now, I've had people make jokes before, in a similar vein, but never so blatantly disgusting.
"You heard! Hot, blonde, around nine-"
"Yes, I heard that. I may not be drunk, blonde or hot, but I'm not deaf or dumb"
"Oh, so you're not denying that you're easy then!"
"How dare you! You have no right to speak to me that way!"
"Hey, it's my right to speak the truth!"
"I am not easy! And how would you have any idea, you don't even know me!"
"I can't help it if your reputation precedes you!"
"How dare you! I don't have to tolerate this kind of behaviour, I'll go and get my boss in a minute"
"You know what sweet cheeks, forget about the pizza, I don't wanna buy from a pissy little slut anyway."
And he stumbled out, muttering along on his way.
I was shocked, disgusted and really pissed off.
Trying my best to shake it off, I moved onto the customer who was waiting behind him.
A few minutes later, I had to answer the phone.
Blah blah blah, pick up order, name
"Could I just grab a contact number please?"
"Oh, you want my number do ya!"
get screwed It's so we can contact you if we need to clarify anything or inform you of any changes"
"Yeah sure, that's what they all say."
"Sir, I need your contact number for the purposes of the order"
"Methinks she doth protest too much"
"Seriously, all jokes aside Sir"
"I like that, respect. A woman who knows her place"
"Excuse me, but do you want to order pizza or do you just want to insult me"
"I'm not sure, but I reckon both sounds like fun"
"I don't need to tolerate this, we have quite enough business without putting up with swine like you"
"Ooooh, fiesty, I like that in a woman! Fiesty, booby and..."
at that point I hung up. Don't know why I waited so long really.
Instantly, the phone rings again.
"Good evening, how can I help you?"
"Ah, where can I begin?"
For some reason, I didn't recognise pig-brains voice and responded, instead of hanging up.
"Why'd you hang up on me fiesty, we were just getting started!"
Then I recognised him.
Poking my head out the back, I asked a delivery boy to answer the phone and swapped back onto the till, hoping I at least wouldn't be insulted or hit on.
No such luck.
"I'll have a Party sized tropical and a Party sized hot American. Huh-huh, get it! Huh-huh, a tropical party, thats classic."
An extremely forced smile and confirmation later, I made the mistake of letting my waitress smile slip off.
"Oh whats the matter sexy, sad you can't come?"
I am so past bothering to give a shit, so I just look at him blankly for a second and go back to order scribbling.
"Oh, poor hottie wants to come to the party. Tell you what, I'll do you a favour. I'll give you a nice big tip, but only if you'll do me 'a favour'."
My blank look turns to a glare, and the ghost of a twitch.
"I mean a blow-job, in case you couldn't trouble your pretty head to figure it out."
That does it.
"You know what?"
"What is it, gorgeous?"
"If you insist" as he nudged his slimy little wing-man
"No seriously, fuck off."
"Thats a little rude don't you think."
"No, not really, I think it's justified. I don't have to put up with this shit you know! I'm not your eye candy, I am a waitress, and a human being with a brain much bigger than yours and standards much higher than you, so fuck off."
"Awww, is someone a little crabby? Someone going through their little time of the month?
"That's enough. No, seriously, FUCK OFF. You can take your tip, your blow-job, your party sized american and your giant empty head and SHOVE IT UP YOUR ASS! Get the fuck away from me, you slimy, sexist, ugly, horny little FUCK-TARD!!!'
And then, as my breathing sped up, shock racing through my system, he did the unthinkable.
He reached across the counter with his repulsive little hand and patted me on the face.
"There, there sexy, we can't always be as wonderful as me, no need to be bitter."
"Don't you DARE touch me!!!"
He lent up over the bench top right up close, and I could smell the rum and weed all over him as whispered "Don't pretend you don't want me to..."
So many times, I've read the phrase 'my fist seemed to fly on its own', and I still don't understand it. The punch I threw was the first I had ever delivered straight to a persons face, and I damn well meant it.
As I unleashed a week and a half worth of tension, frustration and blind anger, I felt his nose meet my stainless silver ring, and did I imagine that cracking sound? Did I imagine that absolutely everything went quiet right at that instant?
Apparently not, because when I pulled back, breathing heavy, I could almost hear the blood start to trickle down his disgusting little face, mingling with fear, as he swore like a sailor and bolted, tail between his legs.
I stood there, paralysed by shock and adrenaline, but still kind of proud of myself in a way, and still very angry.
All eyes were on me. Every customer, delivery boy, waitress, chef. Every man, woman and child.
"You know what? FUCK YOU ALL! You can take your orders, your money, your criticism and your bitching and SHOVE IT!"
Then without knowing what I was doing, I fled the scene of my crime and hid in the storeroom.
Shockingly, my boss gave me the next night off...'