Rain pattered the asphalt, making the muddy puddles dance. With a half-hearted wave, I stopped in the breakroom to grab my purse and umbrella, then exited through the back door, as instructed. Like I could ever come back here after clobbering a woman with a drink tray. I didn’t want to know.Īfter digging my tips out of my apron-a measly twenty-two bucks since I’d only been an hour into my shift-I handed the drenched fabric to Neil. Neither did I glance down to see how visible my pink bra with little black hearts was. “Are you a fashion expert now?” I didn’t admit he was right, or explain that my white-shirt-friendly undergarments were in the laundry. “Aren’t you supposed to wear white bras with white shirts?” Ever hear of a wet t-shirt contest?” I scowled. I untied my apron, then fished the half-melted ice cube out of my blouse and flicked it into the sink. “Well,” I said heavily, “I’m not really surprised.” “Aw, man,” Neil said glumly, joining me beside the dishwasher. I tried not to imagine the look on chicken lady’s face when she learned the crazy server had been canned. The noise had quieted, meaning the manager had probably offered all kinds of apologies and gift cards to the poor assaulted woman. As she walked away, my shoulders slumped.
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