Angels

short story

I just finished getting ready for my shift; it starts in about two hours. I like to get ready early for it, so I have time to decompress before it starts. I have been a waiter for nearly two years at this point and have been working at the same restaurant for nearly two years. My phone starts ringing on the table beside me. I groan and pick it up. I am hoping that it’s just spam; this is my me time, my time to be able to exist without someone bothering me for something. I pick it up, and on the screen, the contact name reads ‘Brian(Manager)’. Goddamnit, he most likely wants me to come in early. I sigh and answer it, “Hi Brian.” I lean back on my couch, silently praying that he needs something else, that I forgot to clock out or something. “Charlie, can you please come in early? Tabitha had to be sent home; she started throwing up.” Brian begged. It’s always something new with Tabitha; I swear that girl is doing stuff on purpose so she gets home. Knowing her, she was probably leaning over the toilet with two fingers in her mouth so she could be sent home early. I rub the temples of my forehead. I have to say yes, he’s desperate; I can tell by his voice. “Fine, be there in twenty,” I tell him. I can hear him take a sigh of relief over the phone. “Thanks, that means a lot to me. See you then.” He thanked me.

I hang up on him and slam my fist into the couch. “Goddamnit!” I exclaimed. I turned off the TV and got up reluctantly. I agreed to this; I should’ve lied and said I couldn’t. Should’ve said I was at a doctor’s appointment or something. Whatever. It can’t be that bad; it's a Thursday night, will most likely be slow but steady. I take a deep breath before grabbing my keys. I exit the door of my apartment and lock it up. It’s nothing fancy; I don’t live in a rough area, but not the nicest. Atleast rent is low, low enough that I can rent by myself and have no roommates. I couldn’t stand having roommates; having to share my space with someone else would drive me crazy. My last girlfriend insisted on moving in with me; I broke up with her for that. Okay, in my defense, we were only dating for like four months and hadn’t even met her parents yet. I am not a complete douche bag.

I walk to my car in the parking garage. I unlock my car and climb inside. It’s a beater for sure; I want a new one, that’s what I am currently saving for. I don’t want something fancy, but preferably not a rust bucket. I reach into my pocket, searching for my pack of cigarettes. Shit, forgot them inside my apartment. I’ll just stop at the gas station and buy more. I wanted to stop for an energy drink anyway. I always buy one for my favorite cook before every shift. His favorite is the mango Celsius. We have a sort of friendship; I buy him energy drinks, and he cooks me food whenever I ask. Sometimes he will bring me his homemade cooking from home. Last time he made me lasagna. I might have a small crush on him; he’s cute, but it’s most likely because of the proximity. Makes work a lot less boring when it’s slow; at least I have my imagination.

I start my car and drive off to the gas station. I always go to the same one; I have been going since I was sixteen; I am twenty-four now. I park and go in. It’s a crummy gas station, theres bullet-proof glass where you go to check out. But the workers are friendly, always have a smile on their faces. I go to the coolers and pull out the Celsius, and head to checkout. “Hey, can I get a pack of Marlboro Golds?” I asked the clerk. The clerk responded with, “ID?” I get my wallet out of my back pocket and flash him my ID. He nods and grabs the pack of cigarettes. He rings me up, and I pay. I head out of the gas station and return to my car. I open the pack of Marlboros. Nothing better than a new, crisp pack of cigarettes. I take one from the pack and grab my lighter from the cup holder. I have a bunch of lighters littered everywhere. I always buy new ones because I swear I forget it, so now I have an overabundance. I put the cigarette between my lips and light it. God, it's refreshing. I start my car and drive off to work.

I finish my cigarette before I get to work. I put it out in a drink that stays permanently in my cup holder. It was a big gulp of Dr Pepper; now it’s where I put out my cigarettes. I might dare one of the hosts to drink it, tell them I’ll pay them ten bucks if they dare drink it. I park my car and get out of it. I grab the Celsius before I shut the door and lock it. I take a deep breath before I walk in. “It’ll be okay; it is a Thursday night. It won’t be that busy.” I repeat to myself. There are barely any cars in the parking lot, so that’s a good sign. I mean, when it’s busy I make money, but when it’s busy it’s pure hell. Literal chaos, makes me regret being born.

I walk in through the back, the backdoor that leads to the kitchen. I open the door and go inside. Inside, my favorite cook, Brett, greets me. “There’s my buddy!” He comes over and pats me on the back. I hand him the drink and say, “How’s it been, Brett? Was it busy at all?” He shakes his head in response to my question and tells me, “It’s been real slow, a snoozer.” He opens up the Celsius and takes a drink. I grin; I want to jump in joy. Thank god, if I had to come in early, atleast it won’t be busy. Instead of working five till close, I am working three to close. We close at eleven, so it’s going to be a long shift. At least it's not a long shift and busy. Although I will say when it’s busy, it makes the time go by faster. I just don’t feel like dealing with the rush of customers.

I make my way to the waiter’s room; inside, there’s Alicia. She has a crush on me; I can tell. No offense, but she’s kinda ugly. She’s nice for sure; she’s not mean or anything, but she’s just ugly. “Hi Charlie!” She exclaimed. I grab my apron and tie it around my waist. “Hey Alicia, what time do you get out?” I ask her. I am hoping she gets out soon. I do not like her flirting with me, or attempting to; she's kinda odd. Alicia smiles at me, “I get out at eight!” Fuck, five more hours with her. It’ll be okay; that’s what I tell myself. Before I can say anything else, Alicia pipes up, “So, I heard from Ashley that you go to the gym. I wondered if I could come along one time.” I bite my lip. Ashley is always spreading other people’s business; I should’ve known better. “Uh, well, I like to be alone when I go; I usually wear headphones,” I respond. She frowns in response; I can see her crinkle her forehead in frustration. “Oh.” She replies, clearly disappointed.

The next two hours are beyond boring, with a few tables here and there. Nothing to report home about; my tips have been good so far. Someone tipped me a twenty on a forty-dollar bill. It was an older couple, said I reminded them of their son. Usually old people tip horribly, always with that back in my day bullshit. But, once in a while you’ll get a couple who is generous, and acutally understands the struggle. For God's sake, I get paid four dollars an hour; if only people knew that. Soon, I have no tables in my section, so I go back to the waiters’ room to scroll on my phone, of course. I mean, I will do my side jobs eventually, but for now I will scroll on my phone. It’ll take like thirty minutes to do my side jobs. As I am scrolling on my phone, the host comes in. It’s a young college boy named Tyler; he’s chill. Reminds me of myself when I was his age. I dropped out of college, wasn’t for me.

“Hey, I just double sat you. Might want to go out there.” He tells me and gestures to go out to the dining room. I get up and put my phone in my pocket. Okay, I can deal with being double sat; not a big deal. “Okay, okay. I am heading out.” I said to him before heading out of the waiter’s room.

When I go out there, I notice something, theres atleast a few tables in every waiter’s section. As I stand there, more people enter the restaurant. I shake my head; maybe it’s a small dinner rush. I go over to my tables and start my service. I am a good waiter, not to pat myself on the back or anything. But I am; there's no doubt about it. As I am waiting on them, more tables appear in my section. Another four-top, a two-top, and a five-top. All at once. No fucking way; he just triple-sat me. Whatever, I’ll get through it; I always do. My section can fit about twelve tables. I know, pretty big, but my boss gives me more tables because I can usually handle it, plus it’s rare that it acutally all fills up.

Now, a bit of sweat drips down my forehead; I am running back and forth. Between checking on tables, getting food out, and getting random things for them, I’ve worked up a sweat. More tables just keep coming; I get a table out, my busser cleans the table, and boom, there’s another group sitting there.

I’m in the kitchen currently, waiting for the rest of the food for table thirty-two to come out. As I am waiting, Laken, another waiter, comes in. “Charlie, Tyler wanted me to tell you he sat another table in your section.” Laken sighed. He’s clearly worked up a sweat as well. I cover my face with my hands and take a deep breath, and say, “Can Tyler give me a fucking break? I am being sat tables left and right.” My food has finished coming out; I start setting it on one of the trays. Laken put his hands up, “Hey, he’s doing the same to me.” He said to me before scurrying out of there.

As I exited the kitchen with the food, my whole section was filled up. Oh, god. I closed my eyes and whispered to myself, “You can do this.” I brought the food to my table. They don’t say anything in response. This table been kinda bitchy to me from the get-go. I can just tell they aren’t going to tip me well. Some people just are like that; it all balances out in the end. I have more things to worry about than a bitchy table.

My body seems to just run without thought. I don’t even have to think anymore; I am on autopilot. Table thirty-four asks for extra ranch as I am balancing table thirty-six’s food. Why do they always do that? Do you expect me to drop everything and go and get your stupid ranch? Yeah, sure, I will drop eighty dollars worth of food on the ground and go get your ranch! Stupid bitch, she looks like she’d drink a gallon of ranch.

I see a hand shoot up in the air, and realize it’s table thirty-two. God, what do they want? I run over there after dropping off table thirty-six’s food. I put on a smile on my face and try to play it cool. Like I am totally not overwhelmed with all the tables. As I go over there, I notice Tyler sitting another table in my section. That little shit. Before I can get any word out, the man sitting at table thirty-two says to me, “This isn’t seasoned, literally tastes like nothing.” He points to his plate. I look at his plate; he’s eaten half of his burger and all of his fries. That liar. I want to yell at him; this is what he brought me over for. I have like eleven tables right now, and he wants to complain right now. He literally has eaten most of his food, and he just decided now that it tastes bad. After shoveling it down his gullet, he just decided now that he’s going to complain. Even though I want to explode his head, I don’t say any of that. “I am sorry about that, sir.” I apologize to him. He laughs and shakes his head. “That’s all you have to say? I was so hungry, and you served me this?” He’s acting like he didn’t eat most of his plate; he’s acting like I just forced him to eat it. He’s acting like I cooked the food myself. I will take a bite of his food right fucking now and tell him he must have covid, because it tastes so flavorful. The man snaps his fingers in front of my face. “Hello? How are you going to fix this?” I want to strangle him. I bite my lip, trying to hold back from screaming at him, “Sir, I will have the kitchen remake it if you’d like.” The man shakes his head and keeps on sarcastically laughing in my face. I cannot help myself, and these words slip out of my mouth: “Sir, please do not treat me disrespectfully.” He stops laughing and frowns at me, “Get your manager. If you think this is disrespect, I’ll show you disrespect.” I don’t say anything; I just nod.

I run to go get Brian and tell him the whole spiel. He sighs, “This is not what I need right now.” I throw my hands up. “Do you think I need this either?” My voice is snappy; I am too stressed to care. Brian puts his hands up. “Hey, calm down.” I roll my eyes. I am calm. I am totally calm. I just walk away, and I head to the walk-in. I need to get cool; I am so warm right now. I can feel my uniform sticking to my chest; I can feel the sweat become sticky. I walk into the walk-in and shut the door. I run my fingers through my hair; it's slick with sweat. I hear the walk-in open. It’s Alicia. Her makeup is all running; she’s been crying. She’s a crier whenever it gets busy like this. Alicia sniffles at me, “Charlie, are you okay?” I don’t know why, but that question made me so angry. Am I okay? Do I look okay? I just had a table act like I killed their dog and spat in their face. I have been running around like a chicken with its head cut off. “Leave me alone!” I say, my voice is raised; I am clearly pissed. She doesn’t say anything; she just quickly shuts the door. I put my face in my hands and scream. I kick the box full of meat next to me; I kick it a little too hard. Pain shot up my foot. “Fuck!” I yell.

I hastily get out of the walk-in. I have things to do; I cannot waste any more time being in the walk-in. I run my fingers through my hair, out of stress. Before I leave the kitchen, I yell to Brian. “Brian, I am losing it. I cannot deal with any more tables!” He just laughs in response. I look over to him, and he’s cooking away. He’s clearly stressed as well. We are all stressed; we are all trying not to lose it. I hear the beep of more tickets being run in. I make my way to the dining room, put a big smile on my face, and go back to serving my tables. I go back to serving tables like I didn’t have a hissy fit in the walk-in. I go back to serving my tables; I go back to the human suit I wear. I go back to my customer service voice; I go back to acting like I am not screaming inside my head.

The night goes by in a blur, and my last table leaves at eleven-thirty. That means I couldn’t start closing my section until after they left. That means my busser, the manager, and I have to stay late. Selfish. That’s what they are. You know how self-absorbed you have to be to stay thirty minutes past closing time? Brian will have to stay even later than I, because he has to close out all the systems. I start sweeping my section quickly; I am doing a half-assed job at it, but I don’t care. I work tomorrow morning, because of course I do. I love it when the schedule me a close and open back to back. I love that we open at ten am. Who the fuck needs a burger at ten am in the morning? Apparently our fat customers need a burger that early in the morning. As soon as I am done cleaning my section, I go and start doing my side work. I should’ve done it earlier; I shouldn’t have scrolled on my phone. I ask Brian to count my tips. I feel bad, but I want to go home as fast as possible. Brian is the closing manager anyway; he can sleep in.

Brian comes into the serving room as I am finishing my sidework. He sets five hundred-dollar bills next to me and a few coins. “You had a good night, money-wise at atleast.” He tells me before walking out. It was all worth it; in the end it was all worth it. That’s why I can’t leave my job. I can make over half my rent in a night. I am addicted to it, addicted to having a good night and making bank. I am addicted to the adrenaline rush. I sigh out of relief that, in the end, it was all worth it.

It’s finally all over, and I exit out of the hell I call my work. I’ll see it again in the morning. As I walk out, I realize something. I forgot table thirty-four’s extra ranch.

Goddamnit.

A/N: This doesn’t fully capture how chaotic serving can be; it's hard to describe, partly because your body just goes on autopilot. Anyway, this is named after an ASAP Rocky song.