Welcomed by the restaurant to the smell of melted jack cheese, burned sirloin (as most prefer it that way) and tropical sangrias. I walk to the back and avoid the fact that my tummy is screaming for a piece of bread that is being kept warm in the industrial oven.
Walk away from my boss after being yelled at that my apron is a tad too wrinkled and he can see the ceases that go down the back of my black button down.
The host grabs my attention as she tells me my first table has been sat.
Okay. Walk over with the biggest fake smile that I usually have on my face daily at work.
Table of four with a a lady that looks like she has an issue with not having a booth of her choice and looking at me as though I am walking to slow for her liking.
Welcome them to choosing to dine with us and immediately I'm interrupted by the mom asking for an unsweet peach tea and then ordering for everyone else.
Balancing their drinks and Shiner beer bock bread on a large tray on my shoulder is not as easy as it looks.
After placing the first drink on the table I am bombarded with their feast, I mean order, and ask them to patiently wait as I am in the middle of dropping off their drinks.
Double check their order. As I am leaving the table I feel a tap on my waist to see the mom shaking her glass in the air for another refill. I ask if I can get them anything else before I return. She shakes her head no as if I asked a ridiculous question. Return with her drink and as I leave again I hear her snapping her fingers rapidly like there were about to create a flame. She glared and said I forgot her ranch. Smile back and respond with a slow nod. As I poor the ranch in the ramekin, it lands on my shoe. GREAT.
Drop off the ranch and mumble as I walk away, "There's your darn ranch."
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