One minute had cost me my tip, my dignity, and a shattered plate beside my shoes. Then Elizabeth opened her worn handbag and placed a scratched red badge next to the rich man’s watch. I couldn’t read its faded lettering from across the diner, but then he looked at it as though it had remembered him.
“Don’t be stupid, girl. I have a meeting at one. If my lunch is late, it comes out of your tip.”
The man tapped the face of his watch as if I were personally responsible for keeping the earth spinning on schedule.
“If my lunch is late, it comes out of your tip.”
I tightened my grip on my order pad.
“What can I get started for you, sir?”
“The most expensive thing you serve.”
Our diner had meatloaf, roast chicken, chicken-fried steak, burgers, and a ribeye that cost more than anything else on the menu.
I suggested the ribeye.
He frowned. “Is it actually good?”
“I think so.”
“You think so?”
I glanced toward the kitchen.
“I’ve never had a customer send it back.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
At seven months pregnant, I had learned that there were moments when keeping my mouth shut was worth more than being right.
This was one of them.
“The ribeye is very popular, sir.”
He sighed like I’d already exhausted him.
“Fine. Medium rare. Baked potato. No sour cream. Ten minutes,” he said, tapping his watch. “I don’t have all afternoon.”
I wrote it down.
“And bring me fresh coffee. This one’s cold.”
“I don’t have all afternoon.”
I’d poured it less than four minutes earlier.
“Of course, sir.”
As I turned away, he added, “And replace the toast.”
What happened next changed everything… FULL STORY on the next page.
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