Service with a Smile

Your heart starts to beat a little faster as the four men walk through the dining area toward the counter. You take a deep breath to try to calm yourself, and manage to get a whiff of Jeremy's body odor. Wrinkling your nose, you leave him by the register and walk to the other end of the counter, where you're greeted with the smell of gasoline and cheap cigarettes. What are these guys, bikers? Whatever, they're just customers, I'll deal with them like I deal with all of them.

Slapping your customer-service grin on your face, you greet them with the faux enthusiasm of a minimum-wage worker. "Afternoon, gents. What can I get for ya today?"

Most of them are doing that I've-never-been-here-before squint as they read the menu up on the wall behind you. The only exception is the skinny one with the long greasy hair. He's looking right at you, a small thin smile on his face. His buddy, a ruddy faced guy with buzzed black hair speaks up. "Uh, yeah, gimme the meatball grinder."

You nod as your brain starts shifting into autopilot. "One meatball comin' up. What kinda bread?"

His eyes roam over the menu board. "Do you guys do like a cheesy bread?"

You nod again and reach behind you into the bread proofer. "Of course we do..." You sigh as you see most of the varieties are missing. Come the fuck on, Lacey, there's no way lunch rush was that bad. "...not. White or wheat?"

He points up at the menu, having finally found the bread selection. "But it says right up there, cheese bread."

"Uh yeah, we're out. Sorry. We got white or wheat."

The big one at the back of the group scoffs. "Thought Frank said we could expect quality service here. What kind of sandwich shop doesn't have bread?"

You feel your cheeks start to get warm. "Uh, we have—"

Jeremy walks over. "Sorry about this dummy, guys, of course we have cheese bread." He opens the bread proofer, looks around, and closes it again. He glares at you with his face turned away from the customers so they can't see. "My employee just seems to have lost it. I'll go get some more." He stalks back to the prep area.

What the fuck, Jeremy? It's gonna take half an hour to bake more bread. And why the hell are you pinning this on me?

Buzzcut clears his throat. "Whatever, it's fine, I'll do white bread."

Flustered, but still mostly on autopilot, you fix him his meatball sandwich. Once it's wrapped and ready, you ring him up at the register. "Any drinks or sides?"

He hands you some cash. "Naw I'm good." He grins at you as he takes his change. "By the way, I like the way you handled those balls."

You blink at him, and are about to ask him what the fuck he means when you hear Jeremy loudly clearing his throat at the other end of the counter. "These nice men are still waiting for their food RC. What's the hold up?"

With one last look at buzzcut, who adds a wink to his grin, you walk back to the other end of the counter to take the next guy's order. I swear to God if Jeremy weren't here that asshole would get such a goddamn dressing-down he'd never show his face here again I cannot believe I have to put up with this fucking "And what can I get for you today, sir?"

The next customer has pale, freckled skin, and the only hair on his head is a dark red goatee. "I'll take a super club combo on white, no turkey, extra beef, and add bacon."

It... already comes with bacon. "You got it, one club combo on white, no turkey, extra beef and bacon."

You slice the bread and your hands start to assemble the sandwich while your mind is still fuming at the last customer. You're interrupted by freckles, who sounds very agitated. "Hey, where's the turkey? And I said no ham! I don't eat pig meat."

You blink at him, not sure if you should mention first that bacon comes from pigs, or that he'd asked for no turkey and hadn't mentioned ham at all. Before you can say anything, Jeremy clears his throat again. "RC, did you not hear the order? Make this man his sandwich, correctly, and get that nice smile back on your face." He offers a smile of his own to the waiting men. "Sorry about this one, guys, she's new."

I've been working here longer than you have, asshole. Forcing your lips into a smile you remove the ham and add turkey, and finish making the sandwich. As you ring him up and ask him if he wants anything else, he responds in the same agitated tone. "Yeah, how about an apology?"

Color rises in your cheeks, and you nearly ask for fucking what, exactly? but the presence of Jeremy at the other end of the counter forces out an "I'm... very sorry sir. It won't happen again."

He snatches his change out of your hand. "It'd better not, bitch, or you'll be very very sorry."

Your **** smile turns into a gape as freckles turns around to go join buzzcut at a table. The fuck did he just say to me? Before Jeremy can pipe up again, you walk back down the line. Lacey wasn't kidding, the customers are weird today.

The big one pulls at his grey-brown beard and gives you a sympathetic look. "Sorry about my boys there, sweetheart, they've just had a long day." He gives you a warm smile. "Name's Bear. You could say I'm the leader of this little club of hooligans. And you are?"

You're relieved to have someone treat you like a human being, but there's something in his tone that makes you uneasy. The warmth is a little oily and threatening, like the heat from a diesel engine. "Er... RC. What can I get for you?"

"I'll take the Italian Stallion on wheat, make it as meaty as you can handle."

You've got to be kidding me. So much for treating me like a person. Forcing the smile back on your face, you grab a roll of wheat bread. "Italian on wheat, extra meat, coming right up."

As you start laying out slices of salami and pepperoni, Bear asks in that oily warm tone "So, RC, do you have a boyfriend?"

And how exactly is that any of your business? Not wanting to cause a scene with Jeremy standing right there, you continue making the sandwich and simply answer "No, sir, not at the moment."

"So where did those stains on your shirt come from?" Jeremy snickers as you nearly drop the handful of olives you'd just grabbed. "Were those from a customer, or are they from your little boss over here?"

Jeremy is cackling now. You know your face is bright red, and your heart is hammering in your chest. If you weren't worried about losing your job this asshole's nuts would have already become intimately acquainted with your kneecap. Instead, you just have to smile and answer "They're... just grease stains, sir. Occupational hazard." Something about having to just put up with this, to accept this blatant harassment like you don't mind at all, is making your skin buzz. It's not quite anger, not quite embarrassment. You don't know what it is, but you're eager to finish up these orders and get the fuck away from all of them.

Bear nods at you. "Oh, I see. Grease stains. Well I know all about those, sweetheart. Occupational hazard of my own. Maybe one of these days when you're free I can take you for a ride and show you."

You didn't think your heart could pound any harder. That buzzing along your skin is starting to work its way inside, making you feel hot. You shift uneasily as you wrap up his sandwich and ring him up. "A-any drinks or sides?"

Bear winks at you as he hands you a 20. "I wouldn't mind another side piece, but I'm not sure you're ready to handle that, sweetheart. Keep the change." He walks back to join buzzcut and freckles.

Hands shaking, you break the bill in the register and dump the change into the tip jar. Fighting to keep your breathing steady, and trying hard to ignore that buzzing feeling, you walk back to the other end of the counter, ignoring the shit-eating grin on Jeremy's face. Turning to face the skinny one with the long greasy hair, you ask "And what can I do... get for you, sir?"

He gives you that same thin smile. "Oh I'm good." His shiny brown eyes roam down your body and back up to your burning face. "I just like to look." With that, he joins his friends at their table.

Dumbfounded, but grateful to finally be done with these weirdos, you turn to escape to the prep area. Maybe doing a mountain of dishes will help get rid of... whatever this feeling is. You've almost escaped past Jeremy into the back when you hear Bear call out behind you. "Hey! Can we get some table service? You forgot napkins!"

You turn around to say, as politely as you possibly can, that this is a fast-food sandwich shop, and you don't do table service, and he's welcome to grab as many napkins as he likes from the counter. Before you can open your mouth, Jeremy grabs your arm. "Come on, dummy, get these nice men their napkins." There's a muffled ringing sound coming from the back. "That's the office phone. Probably the boss calling to check on his investment. Now you go give these men some service." He squeezes your arm hard enough to hurt. "And remember to smile."

Jeremy releases you and scurries back to the office. You briefly look at the white marks his fingers left on your arm before stalking up to the front of the counter to grab a handful of napkins. As you take them over to the table where the four men are sitting, you **** a rigid grin onto your face. Getting close to them again on purpose is sending your heart rate through the roof. "Here's your napkins, gents." You remember Jeremy's admonishment, and the look in his eyes that said your job was on the line. "A-anything else I can get for you?"

Buzzcut is grinning at you, freckles is glaring at you, and skinny's eyes are looking everywhere except your face. Bear smiles and places his large, calloused hand on the back of your leg, just below your ass. "Actually, there is, sweetheart. You see, we're used to a certain level of service at Frank's establishments. I gave you a nice fat tip with the expectation that service would be rendered." His hand moves just a little higher. "Of course, I don't want to be too hard on the new girl. Maybe Frank hasn't explained to you yet how things work. Why don't you sit right here in my lap and we can chat about it?"

You're practically hyperventilating as you look desperately back toward the counter, wishing for the first time in your life to see Jeremy standing there. That strange buzzing feeling has turned into a burning heat, and Bear's hand on you is focusing that heat right between your legs. You don't know what kind of service Bear is talking about, but the thought of spending another second being harassed by these four guys is more than you can handle. No job is worth this, but something about that strange buzzing heat is making you feel like maybe you should just hear him out. How bad could it be?

Bear squeezes his hand, making the heat between your legs flare up. "C'mon now, sweetheart. Don't be shy."