Booth Three

3

I pick the plates up off the table, neatly piling them up on the tray. The three men continue their conversation about last nights basketball game, but pass over their plates so I don't have to reach over to get them.

"Thanks for that," Oliver smiles politely.

"No worries," I respond. "Is there anything else I can do for you?"

"I think we're all good for now, right?" he glances at the others.

"Yeah," Roman nods.

"Just the cheque would be great, thanks," Diego adds.

"No problem. I'll be right back," I smile.

"Take your time."

I carry the plates away from their table and into the kitchen for cleaning. I quickly scan the restaurant for Karla, but she's busy serving a table, so I head to the cash register on my own and print out their bill. Their total is $146. I can't help but smile. They always tip at least 50% and always round up. That's $75 I desperately need. I won't be getting much of it, though.

"Here we are," I put the receipt down on their table. "Feel free to call me over when you're ready."

"That's not necessary," Oliver pulls his wallet out of his suit jacket. He glances at the receipt, places his credit card in the booklet, and starts digging through his notes. I try to look away. I don't know why they always prefer that I stay rather than do the polite thing and give them their space, but it's not like their wealth is a secret. He puts a few notes on top of the receipt and passes me the booklet.

"Thanks for that. I'll be right back," I head back towards the cash register and run the card through the machine. Of all our rich clients, the Ferrari's are the only ones who have Amex Black Cards. I quickly glance from left to right, checking to see if anyone would notice me pocketing some of their cash. But I was stupid for even considering it. Eric is already leaning over me, eyeing the notes in my hand.

"Perfect," he yanks it away from me. He counts through the cash, picks up a five-dollar note and holds it out to me. "Here you go."

"What?" I scowl. "That's not even 10%!"

"I don't know what to tell you, Amy. You were late this morning."

"I was not late!"

"Yes, you were. Your work ethic has been lacking recently, and this is just one of the consequences."

"That's bullshit and you know it. I earned this money!"

"And what are you going to use it for, huh? More toys for your kids?" he scoffs. "Kids aren't that expensive, Amy. And if you couldn't afford them, you shouldn't have gotten pregnant."

"Give me my money, Eric," I reach out to grab the booklet, but he moves it away from me.

"Why would I? Don't you want a new staff room?"

"No, I want to pay my fucking rent!"

"Will you quiet down?! You're making a scene!"

"I don't care! Give me my fucking money!" I jump up to grab it out of his hands, but I don't stand a chance.

"Hey!" a familiar voice booms through the room. Diego jumps out of his seat, his company following behind. "What going on?!"

"Nothing, Sir. We're all fine here," Eric responds, but I can't lie the way he can.

"Give me my fucking money!" I blurt.

"Is that our tip?" Oliver asks. "Because that's for her, not for you."