tired tone of his voice indicating that it was a real effort for him to have to lower himself to speak to me, `I'm really not interested in anything more you have to say. Be a good girl and fetch me my food. You are a waitress. You are here to serve me. And if I want to be rude to you then I'll be as rude as I fucking well please. You're paid to take it.'
`No you listen,' I began to pointlessly protest, `I'm not...'
`Get the manager,' he interrupted with a tone of infuriating superiority. `I don't need to speak to you any longer.'
Another one of those moments which seemed to last forever. I was suddenly so full of anger and contempt that, once again, I was too wound up to move. Compounding my awkwardness was the fact that the other customers had all now stopped eating and were watching and waiting to see what I'd do next. I glanced back over my shoulder and saw that the Neanderthals in the kitchen were peering out through the portholes at me too, grinning like the idiots I knew they were.
`Well?' the customer sighed.
I turned and walked, pushing my way through the swinging doors to the kitchen, sending Jamie flying.
`Where's Trevor?'
`Fag break,' Keith replied.
I stormed out through the back door to where Trevor, our so-called manager, was standing smoking a cigarette. He was leaning up the rubbish bins, reading Keith's newspaper.
`Trevor,' I began.
`What?' he grunted, annoyed that I'd interrupted him.
`I've got a problem with a customer. He says he wants to speak to the manager.'
`Tell him you're the manager.'
`Why should I?' He shrugged his shoulders.
`Tell him I've gone out to a meeting.'
`No.'
`Tell him I've got Health and Safety coming.'
`No.'
`For Christ's sake,' he groaned, finally lifting his head from the paper, `just deal with it will you. What the hell do I pay you for? Dealing with customers is your responsibility.'
`Looking after your staff is yours.'
`Oh give it a rest...'
`He swore at me! I'm not prepared to speak to a customer who's going to swear at me. Do you know how bloody insulting he was when...?'
`Now you're swearing at me. You can't have it both ways, love!'
That was it. That was the straw that broke the camel's back. I ripped off the bloody stupid pinafore that they made me wear and threw it at Trevor, along with my order pad.
`I've had enough! Stick your bloody job!'
I couldn't afford to do what I was doing, but at the same time I couldn't put myself through it any longer. This wasn't the first time this had happened, and I knew that if I stayed in the job it wouldn't be the last. I pushed my way back into the kitchen, grabbed my coat, and marched out through the restaurant.
`Is the manager on his way?' the odious little customer asked at the top of his voice as I walked past. I stopped and turned round to face him. His food couldn't have been too bad because he'd managed to eat half of it.
`No he isn't,' I answered. `The manager cannot be bothered to come and speak to you, and I can't be bothered wasting my time dealing with pathetic little fuckers like you either. You can stick your meal and your attitude and your complaint up your arse, and I hope you fucking choke on your food!'
And he did.
Still chewing a mouthful of breakfast, the sickening, smug grin of superiority which had been plastered across the idiot's face as he watched me ranting at him suddenly disappeared. He stopped eating. His eyes began to water and the veins in his neck began to bulge. He spat out his food.
`Get me some water,' he croaked, clawing at his neck. `Get me some...'
A noise from behind made me turn round. The customers in the far corner of the restaurant were choking too. The middle-aged couple were both in as bad a state as the little shit who had caused me so much trouble this morning. I turned back to look at him again. Christ, he looked like he was suffocating.
`No you listen,' I began to pointlessly protest, `I'm not...'
`Get the manager,' he interrupted with a tone of infuriating superiority. `I don't need to speak to you any longer.'
Another one of those moments which seemed to last forever. I was suddenly so full of anger and contempt that, once again, I was too wound up to move. Compounding my awkwardness was the fact that the other customers had all now stopped eating and were watching and waiting to see what I'd do next. I glanced back over my shoulder and saw that the Neanderthals in the kitchen were peering out through the portholes at me too, grinning like the idiots I knew they were.
`Well?' the customer sighed.
I turned and walked, pushing my way through the swinging doors to the kitchen, sending Jamie flying.
`Where's Trevor?'
`Fag break,' Keith replied.
I stormed out through the back door to where Trevor, our so-called manager, was standing smoking a cigarette. He was leaning up the rubbish bins, reading Keith's newspaper.
`Trevor,' I began.
`What?' he grunted, annoyed that I'd interrupted him.
`I've got a problem with a customer. He says he wants to speak to the manager.'
`Tell him you're the manager.'
`Why should I?' He shrugged his shoulders.
`Tell him I've gone out to a meeting.'
`No.'
`Tell him I've got Health and Safety coming.'
`No.'
`For Christ's sake,' he groaned, finally lifting his head from the paper, `just deal with it will you. What the hell do I pay you for? Dealing with customers is your responsibility.'
`Looking after your staff is yours.'
`Oh give it a rest...'
`He swore at me! I'm not prepared to speak to a customer who's going to swear at me. Do you know how bloody insulting he was when...?'
`Now you're swearing at me. You can't have it both ways, love!'
That was it. That was the straw that broke the camel's back. I ripped off the bloody stupid pinafore that they made me wear and threw it at Trevor, along with my order pad.
`I've had enough! Stick your bloody job!'
I couldn't afford to do what I was doing, but at the same time I couldn't put myself through it any longer. This wasn't the first time this had happened, and I knew that if I stayed in the job it wouldn't be the last. I pushed my way back into the kitchen, grabbed my coat, and marched out through the restaurant.
`Is the manager on his way?' the odious little customer asked at the top of his voice as I walked past. I stopped and turned round to face him. His food couldn't have been too bad because he'd managed to eat half of it.
`No he isn't,' I answered. `The manager cannot be bothered to come and speak to you, and I can't be bothered wasting my time dealing with pathetic little fuckers like you either. You can stick your meal and your attitude and your complaint up your arse, and I hope you fucking choke on your food!'
And he did.
Still chewing a mouthful of breakfast, the sickening, smug grin of superiority which had been plastered across the idiot's face as he watched me ranting at him suddenly disappeared. He stopped eating. His eyes began to water and the veins in his neck began to bulge. He spat out his food.
`Get me some water,' he croaked, clawing at his neck. `Get me some...'
A noise from behind made me turn round. The customers in the far corner of the restaurant were choking too. The middle-aged couple were both in as bad a state as the little shit who had caused me so much trouble this morning. I turned back to look at him again. Christ, he looked like he was suffocating.
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