I resist the urge to tell him to go and fuck himself and nod towards the table. “Are you allowing them to eat here? They’re clearly drunk and kind of loud and they might disturb the other customers.” If I tell him I’m uncomfortable waiting on them, there’s no way in hell he won’t take the opportunity to make me miserable.
Marco looks around the restaurant, actually taking me seriously, but then he looks back at me and shrugs. “They’re regulars. And the other diners aren’t. It’ll be fine Callie. Just be nice to them. Or is that too much to ask?”
“Of course not,” I say, biting back my anger. “I just didn’t want to get the blame when they empty the place.”
They’re talking too loud already, cursing and laughing and I notice an elderly couple sitting at the next table give them a wary glance. I start to make my way over, ready to try and diffuse the situation. I approach the elderly couple. “Are you enjoying your meals?” I ask brightly.
They nod, neither of them really looking at me.
I lean in closer and lower my voice, “I can move you if you’d be more comfortable somewhere a little quieter,” I say.
“Thank you,” the woman says, finally looking up and meeting my eye. I can see the relief on her face. “It’s our anniversary and we just wanted a nice meal in peace.”
I nod my understanding and lead the couple to a different table, carrying their plates for them. I go back for the drinks. One of the men from the loud table whistles in my direction. I bristle and ignore him.
“Hey, waitress,” he shouts.
I turn around slowly, my face full of thunder. “I’ll be with you in a minute,” I say through gritted teeth. “And my name isn’t waitress.”
“Ooh, she’s feisty!” One of them laughs, getting a round of cheers from the table.
Fucking great.
I take the old couple their drinks, noting that at least they look more comfortable now. The rest of the diners in my section are a little younger themselves and they just ignore the loud table.
I make my way towards the table, already knowing how this is going to go and dreading it. “Are you ready to order?” I ask, putting on my more fake than usual smile. The one I keep for customers just like these.
“How about you to go?” one of them asks.
“How about we stick to the menu,” I say to another round of cheers.
They make a show of looking at the menu.
“Does the meatball special come with a side of hot waitress?” the same asshole asks.
“Nope. It comes with a side of garlic bread like it says right there,” I say.
“Shame,” he replies. “You look like the sort of girl who would appreciate a ride on a more experienced man.”
I feel sick at his words. As if I’d go there. I try to ignore the jibes, but I’m getting more and more uncomfortable by the second. I could just walk away, but I’ll only have to come back, and no doubt, Marco will get in my face about it. I can feel my face going red, the heat spreading down my neck. This doesn’t go unnoticed by the table.
“Aww she’s blushing. How cute.” He laughs.
“Look… do you want to order an actual meal off the actual menu or not?” I snap.
“Relax.” He smiles. “A girl doesn’t wear a tight little skirt like that unless she wants some attention.”
“It’s the staff uniform,” I point out, biting back my argument that actually I can wear whatever the fuck I want to and not want his attention.
Before I know what’s happening, he reaches out and runs his hand up my thigh.
I slap it away, no longer caring if I piss him off. “Take your hand off me right now,” I snarl as I shove it away.
His demeanor changes instantly. Gone is the jovial laughter, the fake charm, replaced with a look of cold anger.
I feel nerves fluttering in my stomach. This is going to get ugly.
“Who the fuck do you think you are? Stuck up little cunt,” he snarls at me.
I take an involuntary step backwards, stunned at the venom in his words. I open my mouth although I have no idea what to even say to that. I am dangerously close to tears but I refuse to cry in front of the table of idiots. Before I can gather my composure, I hear Matt’s voice from behind me. “What did you just call her?” It’s level, low, but I can hear the anger simmering dangerously underneath the surface.
The man at the table snickers. “You heard me.”
“Yes. I did,” Matt says. “But what I can’t for the life of me work out is why you thought it was ok to put your hands on her in the first place, or why you think that kind of language is something we’ll tolerate.”
“She loves it.” He grins, not looking at Matt.
“Get the fuck out of here and don’t come back,” Matt says to the man.
He looks up, his eyes widening when he sees the intense look on Matt’s face.
The tears I was holding back have receded a little and I take a step forward, ready to intervene if things go wrong.
“I’m a paying customer,” the man says. “And I know the owner.”
“No you don’t. You know the manager,” Matt says.
He says it with such authority I don’t doubt his words, although I wonder how he knows for sure. He must have heard Marco telling me they’re good customers and to just get on with waiting on them.
“I won’t tell you again. Get out,” he adds.
The customer smirks at him.
One of the others at the table stands up, trying to maintain what little dignity the party might have left. “Come on Fred, we don’t need this shit from some stuck up waiter. We’ll go somewhere else and we won’t ever come back here.” He directs the last part of his sentence to Matt.
He smiles
