A nice start, but then you take a spill

The night starts out nicely enough. The usual midday-early evening crowd starts to thin out, being replaced by a steady stream of women looking for a nice night. A wide variety of different women come in, some alone, some in pairs, and some in groups. Some women come in dressed casually, some come in dressed in some... eye catching dresses and other interesting outfits, clubbing outfits. But while that initially seems odd to you, you figure that's exactly the kind of atmosphere the Ladies' Night ads were going for, and so you just shrug it off.

You're too busy to keep those thoughts on your mind though, pleasant as they may be. The ads certainly seemed to work, considering the heavy workload you're getting. Still, it's not that bad; pretty ladies, good work, and a spike in your usual number of good tips. So, feeling in a pretty good mood, your smile when you approach your newest table is, for a heavily worked waiter, surprisingly genuine.

"Good evening, ladies! My name is John, and I'll be your server this evening."

"Oh! Lucky us!" says the first of the four seated at the booth. She's the shortest of the group, blond, in a sparkly red lowcut dress that despite her stature she fills out just fine.

"Monica!" says the woman sitting across from her, giggling as she feigns reproaching her friend. She is almost the opposite of her friend; tall, dark skinned, and very obviously fit, her pink halter top showing off her toned arms, shoulders, and stomach, her legs crossed under the table in a pair of tight black pants. "Leave the guy alone, we just got here!"

"Ah c'mon Sally," says a slight Asian woman sitting next to the blonde, "I'm sure this guys been getting this all night!" She wasn't entirely wrong, and as she peered at you over a pair of thin, blue-rimmed glassses, matching the dark blue blouse she was wearing, you got the feeling she was prepared to give you more of it. "Don't you think so, Molly?"

The last of the group was a big, wide woman with orange curly hair, a wide grin spread across freckled cheeks, and an expanse of freckled cleavage nearly spilling out of her red tube top. At her friend's question, she seemed to smile even wider, a glimmer in her eyes aimed your way, and she nodded vigorously. "Definitely, Anna! But right now we got this cutie all to ourselves!" You chuckle along with the four women at the table, a bit nervously, as you pull out your notepad to take their orders. They start with a round of drinks, of course, and you bid them goodbye for a brief moment as you hand off their orders and tend to a few other tables.

As you're taking a tray of four, large, colorful drinks back to the women's table, you see your manager Ayana there, checking in and laughing along with them to make sure their night is going well. She smiles as she sees you coming, and Sally, who can see out the booth in your direction, nudges her friends to let them know their drinks are arriving.

And then, you slip.

Maybe it was a spilled drink, a bit of mopping that someone had forgotten to put a sign up for, or just a bad combination of your particular shoes on this particular patch of floor. Either way, your leg slides out from underneath you, and your brain only catches up when you're halfway to the floor. And four, large, colorful drinks, all wind up spilling on someone.

You, Ayana, or one of the women at the table. Who gets doused by the drinks?