Page 19 of Hot and Bothered
My next shift at the bar didn’t go better than my first one. In fact, I would go as far as to say it was ten times worse.
I did the usual sweeping and cleaning when I got there, carefully avoiding the dishes in the sink. But it was going to be a longer shift than the first one so Evan needed to find me something to do.
“How about you go take the customer’s orders?” He handed me a pad of paper and a pencil. “You won’t have to memorize anything. You can write it all down and give it to Grant. He’ll take care of the rest.”
With a determined nod, I took the pen and paper firmly in hand and surveyed the room. It was much busier than it had been the last time I’d worked here, with people clearly getting ready to let loose and have fun with copious amounts of alcohol.
I didn’t have to wait long before a man lifted his head from his conversation with his friend and nodded his chin in my direction.
I went over to him with my pencil poised above my pad of paper.
“Hi there,” I said with a cheery smile. “What can I get you today?”
I had hoped the man would order a beer or something relatively simple. Instead, he rattled off the name of a drink I’d never heard of, some kind of cocktail with half dozen customized requests. I struggled to write down everything he said because he was talking so fast.
“Sorry, could you repeat that last bit?” I asked him.
He practically rolled his eyes as he repeated himself.
“I’ll be right back with your drink,” I told him politely.
I took the order to Grant. He squinted at the paper, trying to read my writing. I couldn’t tell him what it said because I had already half-forgotten most of what I’d written down.
“Okay, I got it,” he said. “I’ll have it to you in a minute.”
The drink had sounded complicated. I hoped it didn’t take too long to make because I had a feeling the customer I was serving was the impatient type.
When Grant handed me the drink in a short glass, I used both hands to carry it carefully to the table. I wasn’t going to have another episode of fumble fingers like I had with the dishes.
I set the glass down in front of the customer with a smile.
“Here you go,” I told him.
He nodded in thanks and brought it to his lips. He took the smallest of sips, then blanched. He lowered the glass, letting it clink heavily on the table as he set it down.
“This isn’t what I ordered,” he said in a harried voice.
My heart sank. I had gotten the order wrong. Whether I had misheard the customer or whether Grant hadn’t been able to read my scribbles correctly, I had screwed up either way.
“I apologize,” I told the customer. “If you don’t mind repeating your order, I’ll write it down again and make sure to get it right this time.”
This time the man spoke slowly and deliberately, enunciating each word as if I were a three-year-old, the way adults talked to children. It was condescending and it began to rile me up, but I forced myself to stay calm. After all, I had messed up the order. It was no wonder that the customer was upset.
I printed in big block letters, making sure to write down every word correctly.
“I hope you’ll get the order right this time,” the customer said impatiently.
“Yes, I’m so sorry,” I told him. “I’ll make sure to get your drink straightaway.”
I hurried back to the bar and had to explain to Grant what happened.
“No worries,” he said, but there was no reassuring smile to go along with the words.
I pushed back the sinking feeling in my stomach and went back to roaming among the tables, looking for customers to wave me down.
The second customer of the night asked me to get them a plate of nacho chips and salsa, which was one of the snack options the bar offered. I gave the order to Lizzy this time so she could make up the plate and give it to me to deliver.
But when I returned to the table with his plate of nachos, the customer looked at the dish with confusion.
