Page 50 of Things We Never Got Over (Knockemout)
“This here’s Maxine, and she’ll be training you on the POS,” Fi said, plucking the lollipop out of her mouth. “It’s also how you clock in and out and order your own meals. Here’s your pin number.” She handed over a sticky note with 6969 scrawled across it in Sharpie.
Nice.
“Hi,” I said to Maxine. She had dark skin dusted with glitter over her enviable cheekbones and modest cleavage. Her hair was cut short and left to curl tightly in tiny magenta coils.
“Call me Max,” she insisted. “You ever sling drinks before?”
I shook my head. “I worked in HR until two days ago.”
I gave her points for not rolling her eyes at me. I wouldn’t want to train me either.
“But I learn fast,” I assured her.
“Well, you’re gonna have to since we’re short-handed tonight. So unless you suck, I’ll be pushing you out of the nest early.”
“I’ll do my best not to suck,” I promised.
“You do that. We’ll start with the drinks for my eight-top.”
“We’ve got two drafts of Bud,” Maxine began, fingers flying over the screen. Her glittery nails hypnotized me with their speed.
I was nervous but highly motivated. My bank had told me it would take up to a week for me to receive my replacement debit and credit cards. And Waylay had already polished off the entire box of Pop-Tarts. If I wanted to keep my niece in groceries, I was going to have to be the best damn server this town had ever seen.
“Then you hit send, and the printer at the bar spits out the order. Same for food, only it goes straight to the kitchen,” Max explained.
“Got it.”
“Great. Here’s the next one. Your turn.”
I only fumbled twice and earned a “good enough” nod from my trainer.
“Let’s get those tips flowing. I hope your feet are prepared,” Maxine said with a quick grin.
I blew out a breath and followed her into the crowd.
My feet hurt. I was hours behind on my water intake. And I was really tired of explaining that I wasn’t Tina. Especially since that seemed to have earned me the nickname Not Tina.
Silver the bartender said something that I missed as I wearily unloaded glasses at the service bar.
“What?” I yelled over the music.
“Hangin’ in there?” she repeated louder this time.
“I think so.” Max had given me two tables of “understanding regulars” to handle on my own, and so far no one besides me was wearing beer or complaining about how long it took to get their brisket nachos, so I felt like I was doing an adequate job.
I felt like I’d walked ten miles just going between the bar and the tables.
Most of the patrons seemed like regulars. They knew each other’s names and drink orders and razzed each other over sports rivalries.
The kitchen staff was nice enough. And while Silver wasn’t exactly friendly, she was a pro pulling pints with both hands while taking a to-go order over the phone.
I admired her efficiency.
I’d just dropped off a fresh round of drinks when I realized I’d spent the last few hours not thinking about…well, anything. I hadn’t had time to worry about Waylay at Liza’s or about the four emails from Warner I hadn’t opened. And the small roll of cash in my apron made me forget all about my thieving sister and my overdrawn accounts.
I also hadn’t given my hot, grumpy, urinating neighbor a passing thought.
That’s when I lost my focus and walked smack into a solid wall of chest under a black t-shirt.
