Page 43 of Gamers' Omega
“I get it,” I laughed. “He’s probably got it worse since his customers are under-caffeinated, but we all get a few assholes each shift. It comes with working in the restaurant industry.”
“Under-caffeinated assholes are the worst!” Tony declared from where he’d resumed his game. “Like I’ll hook you up, but it takes longer when you’re complaining that the temperature of your drink was half a degree off two weeks ago. We do our best, but you’re getting a hot latte like the twenty people behind you. My job is to get those drinks out as quickly as possible. If you want your drink treated as an exact science every time, learn to make it at home. I’m told how many shots of espresso, how many pumps of syrup, and hot or iced. That’s what I’m doing.”
I laughed. “I see your ‘you didn’t do it perfectly,’ and raise being blamed for a mistake from the kitchen that I had nothing to do with.”
Tony winced. “Best I can do ‘But the place down the street always does it for me this way!’”
“Sounds like a draw to me,” Beck stated from where he was twirling a stick to encourage Pico to turn around.
“Agreed,” I said.
Tony laughed. “Works for me.” Then, “Oh, you assholes. Who headshot me?”
Beck chuckled. “One of his gaming buddies always headshots him when he’s distracted for too long. Nobody spills who it is though. It might be just one, or whoever has the best shot at the time.”
“Sounds kind of mean,” I replied.
Beck shrugged. “They all have little pranks they play on each other. Tony likes to push them into areas where camera angles suck so they have a hard time getting back out. I forget what some of the others do. But everybody’s cool. They call each other names, laugh about it, and move on. It’s just a game, and they’re there to have fun.”
I nodded. “I guess that’s true.”
“More importantly,” Beck continued, “I honestly believe that if he ever got mad about it, they’d stop. He’s been playing with the same group for a while. They’ve never met in person, but they’re close as net friends.”
I smiled. “That’s good.”
Beck nodded.
“I kissed a bird,” Pico sang. “I kissed a bird.”
“He’s really getting it,” I noted.
“He’s still struggling a bit with the next line,” Beck said. “But it’s pretty close now.”
“What’s next on the list?”
He shrugged. “I think something from that new song by Twisting Flint. You know, the one that goes ‘Slap that thing to make me sing.’ I’d change that to ‘Flap that wing to make me sing.’ Either that or a line from ‘Shake a Tail Feather.’”
“Ooh, both good choices.”
He nodded. “He’ll learn both eventually. But I think ‘Shake a Tail Feather’ will be later, since it’s an old song.”
“Makes sense.”
There was a ding. “Oops, I’ll be right back,” Beck said.
“Something I can help with?” I asked, following him into the kitchen.
“Naw, I’m good. That was my signal to take the chicken out of the marinade and move it into the oven.”
“It seemed like you were pretty busy a few minutes ago.”
He laughed. “I was blanching the green beans. But that’s done. I’ll sauté them while the chicken is resting.”
“Oh.”
He smiled and tugged me against his chest before kissing my forehead. “There will be plenty of time to help with cooking in the future, but tonight we want you to relax and enjoy yourself.”
I swallowed and nodded. “Ok.”
