You Forgot Your Change!
In theory, taking a job waiting tables at the posh restaurant near the yacht club was genius. Where better to make big tips than a place frequented by people who clearly had too much money?
Turns out, rich people didn’t tip that well. Lardo had no idea why, but it appeared to be the truth. She still needed the job, though, so she stuck with it. Art supplies weren’t cheap, and she had a show coming up.
Not that today is going to be much help for her art supply fund. She maybe shouldn’t have made the mistake of inadvertently insulting hyperrealism earlier, because now Beth Ann, who was hostess this afternoon, was assigning all the stingiest people she could find to Lardo’s section. It wasn’t even like Lardo had said it was bad! She just said it was technically impressive, but often compositionally uninteresting. It wasn’t like she’d memorized the portfolios of all her fellow servers.
Looking at the guy Beth Ann had just seated, she thought maybe she should consider it, just out of self-preservation. Because this guy didn’t look like he fit in with this restaurant’s usual clientele at all. He didn’t fit in with this entire side of town at all. He was wearing an American flag denim vest over a slogan tee, for god’s sake. He looked vaguely like a refugee from the set of Dazed and Confused; he looked like a dine-and-dash waiting to happen.
Still, she was a professional. Sort of. Whatever. She had standards, anyway. So she stepped up to the table in complete customer service mode and asked what she could get him.
“I dunno, man, you think I could start with a little light socialism?”
She blinked at him. She was generally prepared to deal with customers who went off script, but this was pushing it, even for her. “I’ll see what I can do about that. How about a drink while you wait for the revolution?”