Heyyyy all! So, Fire In Our Hearts isn't working (ARRRRGHH!!!!) so seeing as I have time on my hands... I now present... my NEW FIC! ORDER UP!!!
Order Up
My alarm went off with a loud buzz. I groaned and attacked it with a flailing hand until it shut up. Stifling a groan, I let my hand fall back to the pillow as I struggled to open my eyes. More than one major effort at once--such as holding up my head and opening my eyes--was impossible at this time of morning. Finally, I eased out of bed, gasping as my feet hit the cold floor. It was the middle of July! Why was the floor cold? My fan was blowing the air around the room, cooling it. Maybe that’s why.
My clock read 4:47. Ugh. Until I started working at the 24 hour diner in town, the four o’clock hour did not exist in my world. But here I was, tumbling into bed at 2:30 AM after an eight hour shift, only to be due back at six for another six hour shift. Was it possible to be more tired when I woke up than when I went to sleep? I cursed the girl who had taken the day off, and cursed my maniac boss for choosing me to take her shift, instead of one of the girls with a more conducive schedule.
I took a cold, awakening shower, slipped on my work clothes, and headed out the door, returning to the prison that, for some reason, was a very popular dive of a diner. I grabbed my apron and a cereal bar as I went. What I really wanted was a triple shot of espresso with sugar, but I hadn’t made very good tips the day before, which, when you’re working for half minimum wage, pretty much eliminated Starbucks from the week’s budget. I grabbed the half empty Red Bull I had opened on the ride home the night before and chugged it down. Stale, warm Red Bull. Gross.
I slammed on the brakes as a pickup ran a stop sign and almost demolished my tiny car. I should not have to deal with crazy drivers at 5:30 AM! Finally, I made it to work in one piece, but I was already exhausted and frazzled. Not your best way to arrive at work--and my feet already hurt, I realized. Ugh. As I walked in, I heard commotion and knew it was going to be a rough day. My manager ran by and gave me the evil eye. “About time! You’re late. Get clocked in and get out to the tables. We’re mobbed!”
At six AM? And what did she mean, about time? My shift started at six, and it was… 5:58. Hah. Either she’s evil or her watch is fast. Guess which! I clocked in--thirty seconds to six, thank you--tied on my apron and headed to the battlefield. Apparently fifteen workaholic businessmen decided to hold a meeting at a cheap diner at six AM and a group of twelve construction workers were grabbing breakfast before a long day. Yeah, mobbed.
As I passed Tiff, the waitress who would be clocking out, she called, “Hey! No bacon.”
“What?” I asked incredulously. “No bacon?”
“Yeah. We’re out. Sausage, yes; bacon, no.” I groaned. Of all the things to be out of on a Friday morning! “Oh, and--”
“If you tell me we’re out of orange juice, I’ll scream.”
“Not orange--apple.”
I made a high pitched growl of frustration and went out to wait my tables. So, of course, I took over for Tiff at the construction workers’ table, and of course, they decided I had nothing better to do than let them flirt with me. My polite, “Let me know if you need anything else,” was met with catcalls and other, more suggestive comments. The businessman weren’t much better, sadly, so I spent the morning fending off advances and reminding perverted old men that I was seventeen, and therefore underage. Then , of course, came the high school crowd later in the morning. This brought jealous girlfriends who thought it was somehow my fault their hormonal guys wouldn’t stop looking over their waitress. One girl even tripped me as I walked by with dirty dishes (yes, bussing tables is part of the job, too). I wanted to slap her so badly, but that would have cost me my job, plus the medical expenses to repair her broken nose--which looked like a very expensive nose, with many a job done on it. Instead, I apologized for catching her leg with my foot (ironic, that), stabilized the dishes I had nearly dropped, and fled into the kitchen.
After the teens came the happy families out to brunch. Did I say happy? Right. Moms who wanted cinnamon sugar French toast, but hold the sugar, whipped cream, and oil--oh, and no eggs, please (yes, I’m serious). They brought screaming toddlers with them, whose food usually ended up on the floor for me to clean up. Said mothers and children were accompanied by grumpy, demanding dads who usually wanted the bacon we were out of or the hamburger we didn’t start serving for another half hour, at lunch time. I was run off my feet, functioning on two hours of sleep, trying desperately to be polite, and ready to hit the next guy who called me baby or sweetheart.
Then the lunch rush hit. I scrambled around, trying to get all the tables cleared so that new customers could sit down, taking orders and fielding flirtatious remarks. Had every pervert in the city come out today? Did every forty year old man have an interest in a slightly chubby, blonde teenager? It would even have been relieving if an unattached guy under twenty five decided to hit on me. But no. Old, married guys.
Just when the lunch rush was ending: “Kat! C4, 3!” Table C4, three customers. Whoop. At least things were mostly calming down.
I rushed up to the table, flipping open my order booklet, and said without looking up, “What can I get you?”
“I’ll take a hamburger, hold the burger, a mix of every soda you have on tap, and French fries, extra fried. Oh, and add bacon to the burgerless burger.” There was a pause, then slowly, teasingly, “Baby.”
It wasn’t until after I burst into tears that I realized it may have been a joke, but it didn’t matter. I wouldn’t have found it to be funny, anyway. I was overwhelmed, frustrated, and exhausted, and I couldn’t help it anymore. I covered my mouth with my hand and cried hard.
Almost instantly, there was a body on each side of me and one in front. Warm, comforting voices. “Hey, now,” a guy’s low, friendly voice said, “it’s OK! Joe was just being stupid. He didn’t mean to upset you.”
“Yeah,” said the guy with the crazy order, sounding embarrassed, “I’m really sorry.”
“I’m sorry,” I choked out, scrubbing at my eyes in a futile attempt to stop my tears. “It’s just I’m really--” I looked up, gasped, and finished weakly, “stressed out. Joe Jonas?”
He grinned. “Good guess. And Kevin,” he pointed to my left, “and Nick.” Kevin was the one who had tried to comfort me, I realized. Well, they all were. All three were standing around me, Kevin with his arm around my shoulders and Nick rubbing my back. Joe was just standing in front of me, sheepish.
The kitchen door burst open and my manager--yes, the evil one--stormed out. “Katrina, what is going on here? How dare--”
Kevin interrupted with bright smile, “We just ran into Katrina and she was so happy to see us again. Everything’s OK, thanks.” He looked at my psychotic manager and somehow his words carried a lot of authority. She huffed and disappeared.
“You saved my butt,” I said shakily. “I could have gotten fired if you hadn‘t--thanks.”
“It’s the least I could do since the whole meltdown was Joe’s fault anyway.”
Joe put on an offended face and said, “Hey! Be nice!” Then he looked at me. “So… I did the baby thing because I heard everyone else say it and I thought it would be funny to tease you. Guess not. And the hostess mentioned you were out of bacon so I thought I’d mess with you. And hey--the burgerless burger--that’s funny, right?”
I sniffled and nodded, trying to smile. “You just have to understand--I got off at one thirty AM and got back here at six with two hours of sleep. My whole morning has been full of impossible orders and bacon and pervy old men who call me baby and leave their phone numbers on used napkins.” I laughed weakly. “And now I’m all whiny.”
Nick said something for the first time. “After your day, I think you can whine all you want.”
I smiled at him. “Thank you.” I tried to compose myself. “So, really, what can I get you all?”
Joe grinned. “A hamburger--with the burger. Regular fries. And a Coke.” He winked. “Please.”
Nick ordered the same. Then Kevin said, “So, what would you recommend?”
I shrugged. “I’m a vegetarian, so I can‘t give meat suggestions, but I like French fries, and the mac and cheese is fantastic.”
Kevin nodded. “OK. I’ll take the same thing Joe and Nick got, plus the mac and cheese, another order of French fries, and… a Sprite.” Nick and Joe shot him questioning glances, but I just took the order and headed back into the kitchen.
Once I had put in the order, I headed back out to the dining room to clear and wipe tables. I only had two tables other than the Jonas Brothers, and both were almost done, already paying their checks. It was so difficult for me to concentrate on clearing tables knowing that the most amazing musical trio on earth was sitting behind me. I managed to walk away without gravitating to their table, but it was tough.
The three most amazing boys on earth were sitting not fifteen feet from me. My prison of a job had just turned into the only place on earth I wanted to be. My terrible day suddenly seemed like the best day of my life.
Tell me what you think?
