Bleak: Bullying in Food Service

Author’s Note: While the topic of bullying is often centered on the bullying we see in schools, some of the worst treatment I’ve ever had came when I worked in food service. Don’t get me wrong, I LOVED serving and tending bar, and for every bad customer there were five others who made the job worthwhile. However, in the 6 years I worked in food service, I have been cussed out, threatened, grabbed, and had glass thrown at me. The job is where I’ve been dehumanized more than any other - and often, the customers who did it were rewarded for the behavior (usually getting their meals comped due to their food arriving late, being burned, etc). This scene was inspired from two regular customers I had who the servers dreaded whenever they walked into our restaurant. To everyone in food service, thank you for what you do - there has not been a job I’ve worked that’s been more physically exhausting, or underappreciated, than the work I’ve done in food service, and I appreciate you all so much. Pre-orders can be made here: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08HRBFTJX/ref=cm_sw_em_r_mt_dp_mOQyFb55V68RR

Chapter 4: Keep Your Eyes Peeled

     Jay Stallard poured coffee into a crimson “LHS” thermos with the precision of a chemist. Emptying the mug, Jay pushed it toward the end of the table and checked his watch. It was 6:00 A.M., He was sitting across the table at the “North College Drive-In,” from a man by the name of Frances Bradford, but who went by the name “Duke.” Jay first met him on the Baldridge city council and made a tradition to meet here before their monthly meetings since. Duke was broad shouldered with salt and pepper stubble and a sunglasses tan over his pale face, a tan that was a summer tradition.

     A young server made her way to them from across the restaurant, on cue, Duke’s voice cracked the air like a hot whip.

     “I have put two dollars on the table. If my steak is not medium-well, these dollars will go back inside my wallet. If my eggs are not over easy, these dollars will go back inside my wallet, and if my salad does not come out before my meal, these dollars— well, you get the picture.”

     Kit Shields looked over Duke with tired eyes. “Any dressing for your salad?”

     “Ranch, and save yourself a trip and bring out extra.”

     Kit looked to the table’s other occupant.

     Jay Stallard pointed to his thermos. “Just coffee.”

     “Beautiful,” Kit muttered, fleeing the scene.

     Duke wasted no time. “Did you get the notes for Tuesday’s council meeting?”

     Stallard nodded, “What were your thoughts on the new ordinance?”

     “Three pets per house? Thinking a yay.”

     “Same, there’s no need for any more. Not inside city limits.”

     "Good." Duke bellowed, "That gives us two votes, and I know Kyle and Bruce will follow our lead."

     A red-bearded manager put a salad plate in front of Duke. “Here you are, sir.”

     “Thanks,” Duke said, not looking at the plate. “That Turner woman will be up in arms.”

     “Of course she will. She’s a nut. She probably has a hundred cats in that hellhole of hers.”

     “Son of a gun,” Duke spat, “beardy forgot my ranch. Waitress!” Duke yelled, spotting Kit across the way.

     Cut off from taking an order at another table, Kit looked over in surprise.

     Duke snapped his fingers, “Ranch, por favor!”

     Kit gave Duke a distracted nod.

     “Jesus,” Duke said, slipping a dollar into his wallet. “How about a little acknowledgement?”

     Stallard said, “I told you, we should only come here on Sundays.”

     Duke looked over the customers around them. “Is that the only time this place isn’t filled by hipsters and douchebags?”

     Stallard sneered at his surroundings, "Monday mornings has their "start the week off right" promotion, any student who comes to breakfast with a North College ID gets a discount."

     Duke scoffed, "Jesus, no wonder it’s so full. Kids these days think they deserve a medal for waking up on time."

     Kit dropped a bowl of ranch beside the table. “Sorry about that, sir. My manager forgot you liked ranch.”

     “Don’t worry about it, Kit,” Duke said, reading the girl’s name tag. “Say, help my friend Jay and I settle something.”

     Stealing a glance at her section (which was now full), Kit nodded, “Okay.”

     “What do you think of Sunday mornings?”

     Kit’s lips tightened. “They sort of wear me down. I close the drive-in side down on Saturday and the turnaround can be tiring.”

     Stallard cleared his throat, “Kit, if I left you a $10 tip, would you give us an honest answer?”

     There had been a humor and understanding in his voice, leading Kit to smile. “If I gave an honest answer, I don’t know if you’d leave me a $10 tip.”

     Kit had been expecting laughter, but the cold smile on Jay Stallard’s face caused the girl to shudder.

     Stallard smirked, “Don’t worry, I’d never leave you a $10 tip.”

     Duke crumpled up the remaining dollar on the table. “Looks like you lost out on this one, sweetie.”

     Looking at the two in disbelief, Kit limped away.

     Duke looked over to Jay. “You ever worry these kids will dick with your food?”

     “It’s why I order coffee. I don’t put anything past this generation.”

     “Speaking of this generation, I heard the maniac decided to return to Latimer.”

     Stallard grimaced, “It surprised us all.”

     “Gosh darn it, what a shame. The way your superiors swept that under the rug is making me think about puttin’ my grandkids in the charter school. That boy is nothing but a danger to the rest of the student body.”

     “Don’t worry,” said Stallard. “He won’t last long.”

     Bradford shook his head, “Good.”