For Fandango’s Flash Fiction Challenge #147, where we write about the image below from hobo @ Morguefile.com.
Lucy hated this time of year. The extra tips made her job bearable, but at the expense, night-after-night, of having to endure these yobs. Often drunk, often rude, and for whom a waitress was fair game…
Tonight was typical. She spied them from inside the kitchen. A table of six, all young men, boorish, laughing loudly. She had not wished to wait on them, but… a job’s a job.
They’d been less than complimentary all night. After she’d served them, there had been sniggers. One in particular. And how he had looked at her, yes, that was common at this time of year, but Lucy had already christened him Mr. Lewd.
Still, they’d hopefully soon be away into the night. And they were pretty far gone; people tended to give better tips when they were drunk, and any extra cash would be welcome at this time of year.
“Service”, shouted the chef, and Lucy recognised the table’s puddings. She quickly scanned the counter. Just four. Two trips, she thought, as she picked up the first two desserts.
Arriving at the men’s table, their rowdiness had increased in proportion to the alcohol they had consumed. Mr Lewd was unpleasantly loud, certainly the most boisterous of them all. But no matter; if it came to it, Lucy had learned some good put-downs in this job.
But it wasn’t necessary. When they tried to engage her in their suggestive chatter, she had simply used the excuse that she’d be right back once she’d fetched the other sweets.
Back she trotted, with one remaining dessert in each hand. As she left the kitchen, foremost in her mind was that this table would soon be gone.
“Okay”, she requested, as she reached the table. “Whose was the chocolate fudge sundae?”
“That’ll be mine.” The quietest guy, in the far corner. As she reached over to serve him, Lucy felt a hand on her ass.
That night, Lucy didn’t get a tip. And Mr Lewd got the sundae, instead. In the face.