Marsha Hauser
St. Faustina Writing Group
Jess paused in front of the dingy mirror that hung inside the waitress station at the Surf and Turf restaurant. Dang, I should’ve taken the time to wash my hair! I wonder if this’ll affect tonight’s tips? Meh, can’t do anything about it now, she thought as she turned to find Louise, her trainer.
“Your second week, right?” Louise looked up from a stack of napkins that she was rolling around tableware. “This’ll be an experience for you. Thursday nights get pretty brisk with the college students, so you’ll have to move fast!”
Jess’s nervous nod indicated she understood Louise’s comment, and she joined in the never-ending task of prepping tableware. She’d learned that Louise was fair but demanding. Jess was a little afraid of her.
“Got your gear?”
Jess patted the apron she’d just tied around her waist. Feeling the weight in her pocket of the machine she used to submit orders and bill customers, she pretended courage by straightening her spine. “I do,” Jess answered.
She glanced toward the restaurant entrance and saw a line forming at the hostess’s station. The tables were starting to fill. Within seconds the hostess sped through the station, calling out, “Who’s up? Table two’s waiting.”
“Our newbie,” replied Louise. Turning to Jess, she said, “There’s doubles on drinks until six. That’s why those kids are coming in so early. Make sure they’re legal. You serve somebody underage, you’re out the door. Table two!”
Jess’s stomach tightened. Inhaling deeply, and avoiding her reflection in the mirror, she headed toward the table of customers.
“Hi, my name’s Jess. What can I get you?” she asked three young women at her assigned table. Her hand holding the machine shook a little as she scanned the coeds. Their hair was swept up into stylish ’dos, and their makeup, midriff-baring tops, and tight jeans betrayed plans for a fun night on the town. She could never put together a look like that. They turned to look at her with haughty expressions that made her knees weak. She always felt like less among women like this, and her confidence took another hit when she thought, They’re probably not legal.
“I’ll have a pinot,” answered the redheaded leader of the trio, drumming expensively manicured nails on the table.
“Pinot noir or grigio?” asked Jess, relieved that she’d remembered there were two kinds of pinot. She was pretty sure she’d pronounced them correctly too.
Caught off guard, the redhead stared at Jess. With a toss of her hair, she replied dismissively, “Noir.”
“May I see your ID, please?” asked Jess.
“You’re kidding,” said the redhead. “I find that a little offensive.”
“I need to see your ID,” Jess repeated.
The rude woman’s companions began rummaging through their bags, retrieving the proofs of identity they knew they’d be asked to produce. The redhead, though, stared defiantly at Jess.
“I’ll have a merlot,” one of her companions said, distinctly pronouncing the ‘t’ at the end of the word ‘merlot.’
“Me too,” said the third woman. They offered IDs to Jess.
Jess scanned the cards with skepticism. The young women didn’t look twenty-one, but what did she know about IDs, fake or not? Should I run these by Louise? she wondered. Turning back to the redhead, she asked, “Your ID, please?”
A look of resolve passed over the young woman’s contemptuous face. “Look, I don’t have an ID, and if I did, I don’t think I’d show it to you. Just get me the pinot, okay? The pinot noir,” she said with emphasis.
For a second, Jess was dumbfounded by the redhead’s blatant disrespect. Do I make a scene? she wondered. She sees that I’m afraid of her, and she’s enjoying it. Jess cleared her throat, then mumbled, “Excuse me.”
The waitress station was a blur of activity as waiters hurried to fill guests’ requests. Across the dining room, Jess saw Louise setting a booster seat in place and arranging crayons and coloring sheets in front of toddlers as she worked with a large family. I better not bother her, Jess thought.
Relying on routine to steady her, Jess filled water glasses for the three women. Her right hand trembled slightly as she moved the glasses onto a serving tray. I’m on my own here, she told herself. I’ve got to solve this myself. Her heart sank at the thought of returning to the table. Then she remembered her Aunt Shelley, who taught her, “The world will try to make you compromise, but don’t give in. Do what’s right.” Do what’s right, she thought. Her hand stopped shaking, and her spine straightened as she lifted the tray.
Back at the table, she placed a glass of water before each woman.
“I’ll need to see that ID, please,” Jess reminded the redhead.
“And I told you I don’t have one,” said the woman.
Taking a deep breath, Jess replied, “Then I can’t serve you the wine. Is there something else you’d like instead?”
The redhead stared at Jess. A flash of uneasiness passed over her eyes, and she hesitated.
“The water is fine,” she replied, smoothing the tablecloth with her hands. Her friends, keeping their eyes on the table, nodded in agreement. Jess took another deep breath.
“Here are your IDs,” she said as she placed the cards in front of the other women. “Are you ready to order?”
“We’ll need a minute,” said one of the friends, glancing nervously at the redhead.
“Okay. I’ll check back,” said Jess, and she returned to the waitress station.
“What happened with table two?” Jess turned to see Louise by her side.
“They ordered wine, but one of them refused to give me an ID. I’m pretty sure the cards from the other two are fake. They’re sticking with water. Wow! What an attitude the redhead gave me.”
“So you stood up to them. That took some guts,” Louise nodded as she gave Jess a look of respect.
“I was scared,” admitted Jess. “I didn’t want them to cost me my job, but I don’t like liars either.”
“Yeah. I hear you. Wait a second, what’s going on?” Louise was looking toward the table, where the redhead was angrily standing up. “You better check on them,” she said to Jess.
As Jess approached the table, the redhead rushed out of the restaurant. The two remaining women stood to follow her, but one turned back to Jess, her fist clutching a wad of bills. She handed the cash to Jess, whispered, “I’m sorry, this is for your trouble,” and followed her friends out of the restaurant.