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Five faces turned in my direction, and blood roared in my ears. Surely, they could see right through my lack of on-the-job training or experience. But I was surprised when an older woman dressed in a navy skirt and jacket combo with silver-gray hair offered me a kind smile and said, “Why, that would be splendid, dear.”
Her friends nodded in agreement as they helped themselves to the salmon mousse crackers. I smiled back politely and moved to the next cluster of people, relieved at how easy they had made it.
For the next fifteen minutes, I worked my side of the room offering people various canapés. There was the salmon mousse thing, some wasabi prawns, and a mackerel pate concoction that made me want to hurl. On the whole, people were polite and time went on, I found my stride.
Until I reached the piranhas.
I knew instantly it was the group the other waitress had warned me about. They were four young woman around my age, gathered in the far corner of the room but not to hide, to give them the perfect vantage point to survey the entire room.
Their immaculately styled hair matched their perfectly manicured nails and seamless, figure-hugging dresses. Their leader, a slim blonde covered in a long-sleeved black lace-overlaid dress, smirked as I approached them.
“Oh, ladies, look, canapés,” her sickly-sweet voice dripped with contempt.
I offered them the tray of prawns and smiled. “Wasabi prawn?”
They each helped themselves. The blonde inspected her prawn up close and then curled her lip in disgust. “There’s a hair on it. What’s your name?”
“My name?” I stuttered.
“Yes, your name? What’s wrong with you? Do you have a speech impediment?” Her friends snickered, and my cheeks exploded with embarrassment. “Well? What is it?”
“Penny, my name is Penny.”
“Well, Penny…” She stepped forward, peering down at me. Her heels gave her a good two inches over my five-foot-six. “Take this back to the kitchen and tell the chef I’d prefer a little less hair with my prawn.”
She dropped the canapés onto the tray and rubbed her hands together in disgust.
I turned on my heels and fled from the room as quickly as I could without attracting attention, tears stinging the back of my eyes.
Once behind the sanctuary of the kitchen door, I dropped the tray on the counter and leaned back against the tiled wall. The waitress from earlier noticed me and came over. “Let me guess, the piranhas?”
I nodded, trying my best to smother the emotion balled in my throat.
“Don’t let them get to you. If you show weakness, Brittany and her mean girl friends will chew you up and spit you out.”
“Thanks for the heads-up.” I glared at her, a little pissed she threw me to the wolves on my first shift.
“Hey, I’m not here to babysit you.” She shrugged. “If you can’t deal, Mary has another ten girls ready to take your place.”
I dropped my head to my chest feeling defeated.
I needed this job.
“Look,” she sighed, “go back out there and show them they can’t break you. I’m Tara, by the way.”
“Penny,” I murmured.
“Don’t let them break you.” With that, Tara replaced her empty tray with a full one and returned to the room.
Don’t let them break you.
She was right. Brittany was no one to me. Just another self-entitled bitch thinking she was better than everyone and everything. She didn’t know anything about my life or me.
I’d survived an entire summer of teenage attitude, cold showers, and bug spray.
With a newfound sense of resolve, I grabbed a fresh tray of canapés, smoothed down my blouse and skirt with my free hand, and headed back out there.
I could do this.
