page 32

It. Was. Hell. 

There were more people than I could have possibly imagined crowded into that one place, all waving at me or trying to ask me something.

Somehow I managed to stay on my feet and stay smiling through it all, even though my limbs were aching and I could swear I'd served enough food to feed a country.

It didn't help that I was skating - it seems like it would be easier to roll around but let me tell you firsthand your ankles start to burn after a few hours.

I very nearly tripped multiple times but my affinity for dance never failed me and my sense of balance kept me up.

What was annoying was that people were surprisingly cheap. Not only did they take ridiculously large amounts of time just choosing what they were going to have, they then proceeded to leave me anywhere between fifty cents and a dollar as a tip.

I wish I was kidding, but I'm not.

Miranda seated people and cleaned tables, giving me discreet signals as to what tables I had to go to. I appreciated it but had to wonder how she looked so fresh on her feet through the shift.

When the rush finally slowed down she gave me an approving nod, and I found myself thinking of a drill sergeant. She ran a tight ship even though she was a waitress.

Eventually we closed up, and I helped put away the various condiments at each table and the menus. 

"You waitressed before?" Miranda asked, moving to turn the stools back to face the counter.

"Yeah, but never on wheels." I admitted, getting her to chuckle.

"You'll get the swing of it. You already have moxie."

She gestured to the kitchen, running her other hand through her short hair.

"Feel free to see if Dave has any freebies at the end of the day. If he makes an order wrong or has extras he's only going to throw it out anyways. Anyways, I gotta split. "

Miranda skated off, and I counted my tips. 

$24. Not bad. The lousy tips added up.

I scribbled the number down in the back of my notepad, unlacing my rollerblades.

As soon as I stepped out I breathed a sigh of relief, looking down only to see my feet were bruising. Great.

I headed home, noting with a grimace that everything ached. No matter. A job was a job. Money was money.

Pain was pain. 

The End

376 comments about this story Feed