The Hollywood Waitress

Chapter 1.

Stars Hollow Cafe.

I couldn't help but giggle quietly as I witnessed Poppy pulling silly faces behind Bert's back as she poured out his coffee. But these were not just any old faces - they were pretty darn scary. . .  demonic almost.

Although it wasn't too long before her face had resumed its enviable beauty and the  frown lines on her forehead were as prominent as ever.

Poppy Walker was one of those girls that guys loved and girls loathed (except for me of course, BBF's forever and all that)

Flawless complexion; mid - length jet black hair and the greenest eyes you've ever seen. Seriously the girl was a goddess!

Her family had moved to LA from Texas about three years before and believe me she never lost that southern twang. People would say that Poppy and I were like identical twins, personally, I couldn't see it myself.

'That man makes me want to scream!' she said, resigned to the fact that we still had another four hours of shift to go.

'Give the man a break Poppy – he's like a hundred years old.'

'All he does is moan that the coffee tastes like gravy, or the muffins get stuck to his dentures, like hello, no one is putting a gun to your head. Go eat somewhere else!'

'Just because you're in a bad mood doesn't mean you can take it out on customers, Poppy. And keep your voice down, else he'll hear you.'

Weirdly – she didn't come back at me with some quippy remark which was pretty standard for Poppy.

 Instead she switched on the coffee machine. And then came, the familiar sound of thumping. I knew something was up with her because she was doing that twitchy thing with her nose again.

'Seriously Jen, when is Mark going to get us a new machine? Does he actually expect us to work under these conditions?'

Scraping my hair up into a messy ponytail, I quickly wrapped an apron round my waist. 'I know, I went to use the oven the other day and nearly ended up getting baked myself!'

And after a few bangs against the machine from her very delicate fists, a strange chugging noise filled the room followed by drops of froth spurting out the hose.

'I wonder if they know they're drinking ninety per cent froth..?' I said, half - jokingly.

'It's not funny, Jen.' she hissed, before giving it another good wallop.

Grabbing my notepad and pen, I headed towards the café entrance.  'Cheer up. Things could be worse. You could be working at the Mayflower.'

Once inside the café - I was met by a long queue of red - faced customers waiting to be served.

The smell of fried food was enough to make my stomach churn most days, but after a few months I'd gotten used to it. Even if it did take ages for me to wash out the smell of grease from my hair.

 Every night I would rush home after work and scrub like mad with the mintiest shampoo I could find - only to discover it was a complete waste of time. I worked most days and after a few months the rigorous hair routine had become shall we say... less frequent.

The grease had won.

But not for long . . . word on the street (or rather in my deluded head) was I was destined to be a star!

And if I closed my eyes long enough, I could drum up images of cameras flashing and hoards of people calling my name.

'Jennifer. Jennifer!'