“Vickie, pick up!” Miguel called out, as he rang the pick-up bell. The sweat wasdripping into her eyes, as she tried to push back a stray lock of hair that escaped her hair net. She cursed the man who had ever invented those blasted hair nets. Every time she putit on, she felt like Ruth Buzzey. And it wasn’t that Vickie was all that vain. But I mean,after all, even Angelina Jolie would look like a frump wearing one.It was a particularly busy Saturday night. Some big function at the local church, sheoverheard. Oh, to be working at the Steakhouse down the road. She’d be making triplethe tips and going home far earlier than 3am. But no. She didn’t get the job. They wantedsomeone with more proper dinner experience. Well, how was she supposed to get it, if they didn’t give her a chance? Vickie was sharp as a tack, just like her mother had been.Didn’t they know it? Couldn’t they tell just by talking to her? Well, could be worse. Shecould be stuck working at Chuck’s truck stop. Now,
would be the worst!Hang on, Vickie. Sooner or later, you’re bound to get out of this place. Somewhere outthere is someone who’ll give you a chance. Hang on and serve another hundred rounds of pancakes. Syrup on the side, please.“Vickie, can you pick up that four top over there? I’m swamped,” Tammy asked her.She was pale and diaphoretic and Vickie knew her pregnancy was not going well.“Sure, Tammy. Don’t worry,” Vickie answered, knowing full well that she herself wasalready about to go under.
By the time Vickie made it to Tammy’s table, the occupants were impatiently lookingaround for a manager to complain to for the protracted wait.“Sorry for the wait. Pretty busy tonight,” she said, apologetically. No sympathy, here,