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21
CARLEIGH
Ihave a love-hate relationship with working at Logan’s.On most days, it’s love: I like my coworkers, like the regulars, like the tips.Then there are some days - blissfully few and far between, but still present - where it’s more of a hate.Usually, it has something to do with an endless crowd that affords no breaks, a shitty table, or some combination of the two.Tonight is one of those nights.Pray for me.
It starts off when the bartender neglects to inform the serving staff they actually drained their last keg of a particular type of in-demand locally-brewed pilsner, and wouldn’t be getting any in until the following week.I sell five pints of it before I find out, and when I go back to a table of financial bros to inform them, it didn’t go so well.
“Sorry we’re actually out, but have you tried the Five Mountains blonde because it’s pretty similar?”
One of the men in a suit at the table, gets pissed, and slams his fist down on the table.“Why wouldn’t you tell us before we ordered?Isn’t that your job?”
I scoot back a bit away from the table, and bring my pen and pad back out.“I can get you the Five Mountains blonde, or something else to replace it.They just told me,” I reply.
“Why don’t you bring us some of that and then come have a seat,” he says, and pats his lap.
Do guys think that’s sexy?I’m sure there is some girl that will fall for it, but not me.My standards are way higher than this sleazebag.The suit is custom which means it costs a pretty penny, and this guy is probably not used to hearing no.
So, instead of responding, I just walk away and let a male server take over the table.It’s a gamble with a group like that.They will either leave a very generous tip or leave none at all.Usually, the more you flirt, the better the tip, but I’m not one of girls that is comfortable flirting with strangers for money.
It gets busier after that, and there’s no natural break between the after-work crowd and the early-night crowd, so I don’t get a chance to eat.All the stress from college is over, and I can finally catch a break.
Hyde Park isn’t the same.My love for baking isn’t stressful, and it’s a different feel from academics.This is my chance to learn some new tricks and show off my creative side.I still can’t believe they accepted me, and I leave in on Sunday.Three hours isn’t that far away, but it still makes it impossible to live in Hell’s Kitchen and get back and forth every day.
Right before my shift comes to an end, I wait on my last table.At this point, I’m getting hangry, and just want to get home and cook something to eat, but this table is taking their sweet time.It is two men who appear to be in the financial industry to some degree, talking about stocks, and when I go over to ask if they are ready for their check, he tries to rub the back of my thigh.Before I can think about it, my hand is going across his face.I should have let the bouncers handle it.
“What the hell is wrong with you?”the man asks, holding his face.“Let me talk to your boss.”
The security guy walks over, and stands by me, while he talks to the manager.He denies trying to feel me up, and honestly it’s my last shift anyway.I just want to get the hell out of here.
My boss pulls me to the back, and assures me that everything is fine.It’s not like he is going to fire me.Technically, I was supposed to be off the clock almost an hour ago.
“He’s talking about suing, but that’s just how these type of men are.I won’t hold my breath.”
I grab the jacket and purse out of my locker, and head outside toward the train.Logan’s has agreed to hire me back once I’m done with Hyde Park.One less thing I need to worry about when I get back.It’s crucial for me to have a job, but Bryson has agreed to take care of the rent while I’m gone.Technically, I could have asked my parents, but I’m not sure how they are going to feel about me going to this school.
On the train home, I think about how things might go at Hyde Park, and if I’m cut out for this.Self-doubt is something I’ve always struggled with, even a girl with a background like me.Bryson might not even be home - he mentioned maybe handing out with Max- but I send him a text any way.
Me: On the way home.Had a bad shift today, didn’t get to eat.Please tell me there’s still chicken left over from yesterday.
Bryson’s reply is almost instantaneous.
Bryson: I ate it, but I’ll have something waiting for you!
I send a smile back and then put my phone away.One-thirty in the morning is such an odd time to be eating, but at this point, I would even be willing to eat a pile of raw pastry dough, just to fill my stomach.
I don’t end up needing to.When I step into the apartment, I’m hit with the smell of buttery pasta.Bryson’s at the stove, mixing the last of a pile of grated cheese into a pot.
“Mac and cheese,” I breathe, kicking my shoes off and dropping my bag on the ground.“You’re my savior.”
“No problem-o,” Bryson says, twisting his head for a quick peck on the lips.“It’s almost ready.I could bake it with some panko, but it’s pretty late, I figure you just want to get it down the hatch.”
I sink into the chair by our small table.“Yeah, that’s fine.”
He gets a bowl out of the cupboard, loads it up with cheesy macaroni, and sets it in front of me.I inhale it while he puts the leftovers away, nearly burning my mouth, not even caring how wolfish and messy I must look.
“Wow, Carleigh.”Bryson sounds impressed.“That was really something.”He finishes cleaning the pot and sets it on the drying rack.
“I was hungry,” I say, half-defensive, half-apathetic.
