Boys & Detentions

Chapter 11

Work sucked some serious ass. I thought that maybe if I were to go to work and get some money in pocket, my day would be a lot better, since no one I really know goes there. It's usually older people that attend this diner because of it's vintage look.

However, and please note the extra emphasis I put on that word, prices are discounted and love booths were just added in the back. Also, the diner's commercials and marketing have been really successful these past few days, and our milkshakes and wannabe Starbuck's bullshit are a big hit.

"Just what does this mean?" is something you are all probably thinking. Well, funny story. Usually, when all this stuff goes hand in hand, an increase in profit is guaranteed. In other words, PEOPLE THAT I FUCKING HATE WILL BE EVERYWHERE.

"You're gunna have to take that table, hun." I turn to the source of the voice and notice Lindsay smacking her gum as she stares at the table that is probably the bane of my existance at this point in time. She shifts her gaze to me. "You know you're gunna have to."

I scoff and look at her with annoyance. "I fucking know, woman." She stares at me without surprise. I frown without feeling guilty. "My bad. It's just been one seriously long ass day." She nods before strutting away as she smacks her gum at the volume of a nuclear missile. Goddamn, she's fucking annoying.

I turn my attention back to the table by the window, seated by people that I completely abhor in the strongest way possible. They were laughing with eachother, sharing their happiness, and the amount of disgust that fills me is unfathomable.

I don't want to talk to them. Please don't make me talk to them. Where the hell are the other workers? Why am I the only fucking waitress beside Lindsay working this damn shift? Are they all busy in the back boothes? Someone save me before blood is splattered on these walls.

"Hey! We've been trying to order for a while now!" a nasally high voice cuts through my violent thoughts, and my glare remains intact at the bitch who is calling me over.

I want to shout out, "Fuck you, whore. Since when did you eat burgers, you fucking broom stick?" But of course, I don't. Instead, I force myself to walk towards the table, keeping in mind that this place is called Daylight Diner, where happiness meets food, and not heart meets fork. 

I stop in front of their table and give them my biggest bullshit smile, taking in their analyzing looks as I grab for my notepad. "Welcome to Daylight Diner! I'll be your server today, my name is Nami. What can I get you guys to start with?" Even I wasn't convinved by my 'happy' tone of voice.

The muscley guy by the window shares a look with his friend sitting across from him before turning to me with a smirk. "I'm still making up my mind, so I'll let you know when they're all done."

My lip twitches a little bit, but my smile still stays strong. "Alright." I nod before smirking, "Ladies first." The funny thing was that I was still looking at him as I said that, and both guys must've noticed because the one that I wasn't talking to started snickering.

I turn to the prostitute sitting next to him. "What would you like to drink, miss?"

Her lipstick stained lips frown widely before answering me in her awfully high pitched voice. "Write this down, because I'm only going to say this once." Do you even want to know how fucking hard it was to not tell her off? However, in spite of my thoughts, I get ready to write her order. "I'll take an iced, half caff, ristretto—" my eyes widen at her obnoxious order and try to keep up with her words, "—venti, 4-pump, sugar free, with a dash of cinnamon and two tablespoons of ginger in my dolce soy skinny latte."

What the fuck did I just write down?

I look at her with squinted eyes that practically send out WTF signals as I ask sarcastically, "Uhm, anything else you want on your latte?"