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“No, of course not. I did my best to provide her with what she wanted.”
“Your best isn’t good enough! The food that was wasted is coming out of your check.”
“Wait but…”
“I’m sorry for the inconvenience ma’am.” Georgia said to the customer. My face was flushed red and the customer looked at me with sympathy. I wanted to slap the sympathetic look off of her face. She had the nerve to feel sorry for me after she lied on me and fucked with my money.
That’s the one thing that I don’t play about. Incidents like that prevent me from being able to pay my bills. I needed all of my money.
I walked away because I didn’t want to argue with my manager while on the floor. Georgia followed me to the back, “Do we have a problem?”
“Yes we have a problem.” I said, “She’s lying. She got exactly what she ordered so I don’t understand why I have to eat the cost for this.”
“Because the customer is always right.”
“The policy is…”
“I don’t care what the policy is. It was your job to create an option that would work for her. We’re all about customer service here. I don’t know what kind of places you’ve worked at before but here the customers come first.”
“But the last time I asked you about a substitution, you damned near bit my head off because of the policy.”
“Are you arguing with me?” She asked.
“I’m not arguing, I’m just stating facts.”
“Well the fact is that we have an unhappy customer out there and I have to make it right with her. You know what, just go home for the rest of the day. You’re not needed.”
“Wait, I need to work.”
“You should have thought about that before you mouthed off. Maybe you’ll be in a better mood for your next shift.”
I clenched my jaw and took off my apron. Tears welled in my eyes and I bit my tongue. I didn’t speak to anyone on my way out. I headed straight to my car and cried. I made a resolution to go home and sign up for the website as soon as possible. I was willing to do anything to get away from that job. Even if it meant going against my morals.
#Chapter4
The next day I checked my emails and was surprised at the lack of interest. I’d signed up for dating sites before and my inbox was always full. I didn’t respond to a lot of them but it was a huge self-esteem boost knowing men wanted to talk to me. My damned near empty inbox was a bit of a blow to my ego. It had to be because they didn’t like black girls.
I only had two messages in my inbox. I went to Jessica’s room and woke her up.
“Seriously? You’re going to plop on my bed at like six in the morning?”
“It’s 10 o’clock.”
“Same thing.” she said groggily.
“I need to know what’s going on. I only got two messages since I put my profile up. I don’t think they like me.”
“You can’t expect them to approach you. You have to approach them in this setting. Since they have the money, they’re the ones holding the cards in the beginning.”
“Ugh, I don’t want to do that.”
“Tough, get over it. Now get out so that I can sleep.”
“You suck.” I mumbled as I walked out of her room.
I hated approaching men, but I went and scrolled though the profiles as I remembered the events at the restaurant from last night. The men left a lot to be desired in the looks department and most of them were over fifty. I guess that made sense because rich, good-looking men generally didn’t have to go looking for women on the internet. They probably couldn’t keep the women off of them.
A few hours later I got an email from a “Chris” who was forty and he looked alright from his photos. He was white and in decent shape. He said that he liked my profile and wanted to meet for coffee to see if we connected. I sent him an email to ask when, and he wanted to meet the following day and said that he could give me a gift of $100.
