Finally.
After four months of unemployment, and a few more than four “big-girl job” rejections, an offer from my local Cherribeez was a godsend. They had a sudden opening and needed me right away, and my bank account needed them too. My fresh and sparkly English degree had left me with a love for classical literature and a large hole in my pocket in the shape of student loans. My hairstylist Veronica had told me that she worked nights at Cherribeez and they were desperate for somebody to fill in but couldn’t find any experienced servers. I jumped at the opportunity and they were offering me more pay (and tips) than I ever would have thought to ask for at a chain restaurant. Sure, I’m doubling up on hosting and take-out service, but that means double the tips in my pocket. What’s a underemployed millennial to do?
I started that Friday. Veronica was quick to point out who to go to in a pinch, who was hiding in the bathroom taking Snapchats, and who would need cigarette breaks after a big rush. She marched me through the kitchen and the dining room, sparing no details about the time one of the expos decided he could squeeze her ass as she waited for him to pull her food out of the window.
“Don’t worry, he learned not to do that anymore. At least not to me,” she said with a wink. I love Veronica as my hairstylist, but I didn’t feel ready to know what kind of cruel tricks she had up her sleeve. I made a mental note to stay on her good side for the sake of self-preservation.
It was otherwise an unremarkable night at Cherribeez. I would need to get a new pair of shoes if I expected my feet to survive my next shift, but my coworkers were all so grateful to have me there and it felt good to be productive again after fruitlessly looking for work for so long. In fact, five or six employees came up to me throughout the night telling me how much they all appreciated what I was doing and for taking on the role on such short notice. By the fourth time someone told me this, I was starting to feel a little uncomfortable. There are only so many times you can tell your superiors “you’re welcome” before you start feeling like maybe there’s a reason you’re being overpaid.
Our last customers left around midnight, and I was anxious to see them go. I was ready to get back to my bed and my dog at home, but first I agreed to help roll the silverware for the next day with one of Veronica’s favorite coworkers, Cara. She was a 40-something divorcee who had a haircut suspiciously similar to mine, so I liked her immediately. We chatted about nonsense and our coworkers for a while, Cara complaining about the same expo that Veronica had. I’d have to keep my eyes out for him.
About fifteen minutes into our gossiping, Cara looked at me gravely.
“I am really so glad to have you here. It’s been so hard with Piper gone, and nobody was willing to take her spot for too long.” She shook her head softly. The look she gave me convinced me that it was time to figure out why everyone was so irrationally happy to see me, mostly because she suddenly seemed anything but happy.
“Why did Piper leave?” I asked, and then tried to lighten the mood a little. “Were tips bad this summer?”
“Nobody told you?” Cara asked. I shook my head this time. She looked at me for a moment, biting her lip, and eventually sighed.
“Well, I guess I understand why they didn’t say anything. They were probably so happy to have someone who hadn’t heard about what had happened that they figured they should count their blessings.” Cara sighed heavily again. I waited a few moments for her to continue, but she didn’t. Eventually I put my silverware down and looked at her.
“Ok, now you’re freaking me out. What happened?”
“Piper was a good friend, and such a nice girl. It’s just so sad. She was working as a host that night, and we were short-staffed as per usual. She was getting a take-out order ready around 9:30, just before we have the cut-off time for pick-up orders. What a jerk. Anyways, she brought the food outside. I know that I saw her walk out, and go behind the restaurant to the pick-up area in the parking lot. Ugh, I hate that place. Why can’t they replace that damn blinking streetlight? They have the money to repave the entire parking lot but not change a stupid lightbulb? Ok, I’m sorry, I’m just a little worked up. Back to what happened. Yeah, Piper brought the food out and she just never came back. You can see her on the security tapes with the food, too. She just walked out with the plastic bag and she never came back in. We went outside to find her after a few minutes, mostly because we needed someone to start rolling silverware for the next day, and there was nothing out there. No car, no Piper, nada. Actually, that’s not true. We found the receipt. They ordered four sides of steamed shrimp.”
There aren’t enough tips in this world.
Cherribeez 
yo WHAT this is crazy, plz carry mace with you. But not like the weak spray stuff I’m talking like a full medieval weapon
LikeLike