Push

Push [chapter 4]

Chapter 4

"Order up!" Jamie called dramatically, sliding a steaming plate of steak and mashed potatoes across the counter. I smirked, shaking my head. He always got like that when he was on kitchen duty.

"You don't have to do that, you know," I called back, grabbing the plate and handing it over to the customer.

"Of course I do, Ry! It's the dinner rush," he replied simply, sliding down another plate of steak and a bowl of soup. Predictably, the creamy yellow soup sloshed around in its bowl and spilled on my white shirt.

"Dude, this was new," I complained, frantically rubbing at the stain with a rag.

"That's why you should always wear an apron," Arthur's deep basso voice boomed as he yanked the rag out of my hand and replaced it with a spare apron. He apologized to the waiting customer and handed over her order. "Now hop to it. We've got more customers."

Sure enough, the door opened, a bell chiming, as a group of four entered Arthur's small pub. Well, to be honest, I wasn't sure whether to call it a pub or not. There were apparently some key differences between a bar, a pub, and a tavern but I never could tell what they were. But since my boss insisted it was a pub, I was hardly in a position to complain. The bell chimed again as half a dozen more piled in and I worried that the place might burst.

Arthur's "pub" wasn't the big establishment I thought it would be when I started working there. It was small and out of the way, hardly noticeable when you passed by the front - a shabby hardwood door painted green set next to a large heavily tinted window with brown framing. The only thing that indicated its presence to passers-by was the medieval wooden sign dangling by the door.

The interior was nothing special either. The space was large enough to accommodate around fifty or so people. The room was decorated simply - lamps on the walls, ceiling fans for ventilation, some plants to the side, and a few wall ornaments. There were eight tables set around the room, each having four seats around them with several more set to the side if the customers needed them. The counter (Arthur refused to call it a bar though Jamie and I have been calling it that behind his back for months) itself had twelve bar stools. Right now, during the dinner rush, every single chair in the room was filled.

"You know I still can't get how all these people find out about this place," Jamie muttered as he slid a plate of chicken fingers across to me. "Uncle doesn't even advertise."

He doesn't need to, I thought smilingly. Working for the last year at Campbell's, I knew very well how people found out about the place. While most of the surrounding establishments relied on gimmicks and heavy advertising, Campbell's gave the people quality. Not to say that the others' products were bad, Campbell's was just way better. The delicious, fresh, home cooked meals aside, Arthur also boasted about how he brewed all of his beer himself and truth be told, it was way better than most of the commercial kind.

That alone would've kept people coming back with more friends, as evidenced by the perpetually packed space, but there was more. There was also the ambience - the small pub wasn't some commercial, if you would pardon the term, crap-hole. It wasn't littered with shoddy gimmicks or simple-minded tools for attracting customers. It was an honest business, simple, warm, cozy, and a great place to just relax...as long as you intend to buy something.

The people running the establishment *ahem* weren't so bad either. There weren't that many of us - just me and Jamie actually, were enough to keep the place running. I started working at Campbell's just a few weeks after Jamie did, around the same time Arthur found me bloodied on the street, just coming out of a horrible experience. After he nursed me back to health, he was kind enough to offer me a job and let me crash at his place for a while. As long as I lived, I would probably never be able to thank him enough.