Date: Thu, 7 May 2009 19:12:28 -0400 From: J. B. August Subject: Impact: Chapter 1- You Just Got Served This story is a purely fictional account of something which only happened in my mind. All coincidental similarities between people in the story and those in real life are just that, coincidence. I own this story, and therefor would really appreciate it if you told me before posting it on other sites, or using characters from it in other spin off stories; although I doubt that will happen :P This story may contain acts between minors which some people might consider offensive. If you are in this group, please do not read. Please follow the laws, whatever they may be, in your country of residence. and so on and so forth. Otherwise, enjoy the story! If you have any comments, suggestion, or whatever, you can email me at Augustartjb@gmail.com . Impact: Chapter 1- You just got served I gazed unseeingly out of the now spotless window, tossing the grubby rag I had been holding into a bucket full of lukewarm, grayish liquid. Droplets of dirty cleaning solution and translucent water splashed onto my leg, soaking through the fabric of my long black slacks and slowly dripping down my right calf until I could feel wetness in the bottom of my shoe. I hardly noticed. Rays of unrelenting sunlight poured into the large dining room, but it did little in the way of keeping the place lit. The building was empty, or as close to empty as it ever got, and who could blame anyone for not wanting to spend their time inside of some stuffy restaurant on a day like this. Even the clouds had taken the day off, leaving a wide expanse of blue sky as far as the eye could see. And where was I? Stuck in this place all day, scrubbing windows and mopping the floor. Don't get me wrong, it wasn't always so bad. Being a server at an Italian "Bistro" is good money for a teen, and I was good at making it. As Jason, my slightly eccentric, balding, middle-aged boss had so bluntly put it on my first day here, serving tables is a fine art. Half the battle is learning to read what people want, and the other half is giving it to them. I had soon learned the truth of these words. In my experience, customers could be broken into three basic categories. The first were those people who just wanted someone to serve them food in a quick and friendly manner. Crack a couple jokes, smile a lot and when the bill came along, the tip would always be big. The second type of customer, are those who wanted to be your best friend. These are the ones I hated the most. As if it wasn't enough to wait on them hand and foot, to bring them food, to carry out drink after drink. No, these were the people who wanted you to make them feel like they were special. Although, once you figured it out, it was easier to impress these types of people than you might think. Just throw in a comment or two about how you talked to the chef into making sure their order came out especially delicious, or else about how you had to dig around the cooler for 10 minutes, but you eventually found that special sauce they were looking for, and they were yours. The third kind of customer was my favorite. Those who walked in, sat down with their newspaper or magazine, and just wanted to be left alone. Usually this sort came in the form of a single business man or woman in a nice button down suit. No secret here, the easiest way to deal with this lot was simply to let them be. Take their order, keep their drinks filled, and leave them alone. Being a sever wasn't that bad, but I still resented my father for giving my mom the bright idea in the first place. I hardly ever saw the man, maybe once a year at most when he would fly out to California on vacation with his other family to `visit' his favorite son, and yet he seemed bound and determined to be a nuisance in my life. I mean, the man couldn't even find the time to call me and check to see how I was, but somehow he had gotten the idea in my mom's head that I should get a summer job. I was 17, and I had managed to weasel my way out of it every year before then. Mom was constantly busy, a lawyer for some important firm somewhere here in Cali, and had little time to worry about what I was doing with my time. I think she expected me to follow in her footsteps one day and become a lawyer as well. somehow I don't think that will ever be on the agenda. Don't get me wrong, I had always respected my mother and what she did. Long story short, I mostly kept to myself, and she mostly kept to her work. Between her monthly paychecks now and the divorce settlement, she was worth a lot of money, and from what I understood, a good portion of that was mine. Apparently I had to be 18 before it was officially mine though, so until then, I was stuck here serving tables. I was awakened from my stupor by a loud clicking noise in my right ear. I turned my head yawning, already knowing what the sound would be. My boss, Jason, stood beside me with one hand to his hip, his tongue stuck firm to the top of his mouth in preparation for a second click. "Where's your head Shaye? You have customers waiting. Boy, sometimes I don't even know why we keep you on this staff, head always in the clouds." he trailed off, staring determinately in my direction. I almost smiled at the man. almost. He had a nice enough manner about him, but in my humble opinion, he thought himself way too important. His flawlessly ironed suit and the comb over of hair which didn't quite cover up the balled spot on his head worked in perfect contrast to my bedraggled appearance. The first few buttons of my shirt were undone, and one side had been untucked from the black pants which I wore. I didn't think I had washed the work outfit in a good week. When I didn't respond fast enough, the second click followed as I had known it would. I realized that he wasn't about to leave without a response so I hastily grumbled a quick apology in his direction before turning towards the entranceway. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Jason depart again back to the broom cupboard sized office in the back of the restaurant, apparently now satisfied that he had reminded me of my place. The name tag on the door fell a couple of inches on one side as he closed the door after him, leaving the name Jason Raston hanging slightly crooked on the left side. I couldn't wait till I was done with this job, and I had just started on Monday. There was one sun beam of hope at least; it was Friday. I clung desperately to this notion, drawing stamina and willpower only by reminding myself that it would all be over soon. I turned towards the door again, eyeing up they three new arrivals; a graying man in his mid to late thirties, a plump young woman with long wavy brown hair who I assumed to be his wife, and a young girl of maybe two or three years old whose hair was also brown and curly. As I stepped close enough to interact with the couple and their daughter, only to cringed involuntarily a moment later at both the rancid aroma coming from the young girls diaper and from the smudges the girl had made on the windowed doorway n her way in with her grubby little hands; smudges I would have to clean. I had never really enjoyed the company of small children. Too much screaming, too much whining, and too many dirty diapers. In my mind, the only thing this family meant was more work for me, and on top of that, thanks to little miss poops herself in public, I had to clean the door as well. "How many?" I asked dully, already pulling out 2 normal menus, and a kids one, which came with a whole two free crayons. "Four please," the woman answered in a kindly soprano. I looked around, a bit surprised, trying to locate the 4th in their party. As if to answer my unspoken question the woman continued, "Tyler is just grabbing the diaper bag from the car." Then turning to the little girl again, "someone's made a messy in her pants hasn't she?" The child giggled indulgently, apparently proud of the poop which was now squished up against her rear end; I tried not to gag. I showed the three to an empty booth in my section. They were my first customer's of the day, and therefore made up the entirety of my section. As the man and woman sat down, I saw for the first time a young boy make his way through the front doorway carrying a large pink bag which obviously did not belong to him. He scanned the room for a moment before his eyes finally rested upon the family next to me, and then myself. I did a double take as he came closer, checking the family sitting next to me first, and then checking the boy again. He looked absolutely nothing like the people I had just seated. The boy's dirty blonde hair clung to the front of his face just below his bright searching eyes, at that length which couldn't really be considered long, but at the same time wasn't quite short either. While the others had pale skin he was well tanned, but most noticeable of all were his eyes. While the man and woman sitting at the tables eyes were a simple brownish color, his eyes were a shade of the lightest blue. I found it hard to believe he wasn't wearing color contacts or something. Either this boy had gotten lucky as hell with his share of gene pool, or his mother had gotten busy with another man. I had just determined that this couldn't be the Tyler the woman had been talking about when right on cue, the boy arrived at the table. Slightly out of breath, he handed the bag over to the woman and sat down in the booth next to the man I assumed to be his father. "Jeeze! What do you keep in that thing, bowling balls?" he asked with a devilish kind of smile towards the pudgy woman across from him. His voice was boyish, but had a raspy kind of overtone to it as well. There was something both alluring and even a little sexy about that voice. His parents hardly seemed to notice the boys attempt at a joke, but I couldn't help but let out a giggle. He looked up at me for the first time, showing a row of perfectly straight, bright white teeth. I couldn't help but smile back, my heart missing a beat or two. His eyes entranced me, an endless ocean of sparkling blue which beckoned me in until I felt like I might be drowning. I might have stared at them forever, never being able to turn away again if at that moment the boy had not turned his head away. I noticed a rose colored tint slowly spread across his cheeks as he began to pick at the silverware which I had placed at the table. I guessed his age to be around 12 or 13, but I was never any good at guessing ages. I felt a little guilty finding a boy that many years younger than me attractive, but I had learned to live with it. This was not the first boy who had made my heart flutter, and he would certainly not be the last. "Tyler right? Do you want a kids menu?" I asked nonchalantly, hoping that this might lead to some more information about his age. He looked up at me with those big blue eyes, appearing to be a little shocked by something. It took me a moment to realize that he was probably wondering how I had known his name. Rule number one for a server, remember names. Before I could clarify where I had attained the knowledge, he answered in that cute boyish voice of his, still not quite looking up in my direction. "How old do you think I am?" he asked, an endearing little smirk appearing across his lips. Damn, I thought to myself, letting my own smile seep its way onto my face; he had beaten me at my own game and he didn't even know it. "I think you are 13, maybe 14." I said, giving the boy the benefit of the doubt. Kids always like it when you guess their ages too high. "Nooo." he said giggling madly, "I'm 11 _, I'll be 12 in September! Did you really think I was 14?" he asked, obviously intrigued by my answer. Man, he really was young. I felt a slight pang of guilt again at finding him so damn attractive, but waved it off easily as I I found my gaze once again traveling towards his eyes. "Well, you could have been 14, how should I know? You still didn't answer my question though. Does being 11 mean you don't want a kids menu?" He scrunched up his nose at this, preparing to answer the question. Before the boy could answer my question, the man spoke up for the first time, managing to startle me half to death and ruin the little game we had going in one foul swoop. "He'll take a kids menu thanks," he said curtly. "But I." Tyler began to protest, but the man's cold look cut him off before he could finish the sentence. I tried not to let a frown cross my face, but I am not sure that I was able to keep the displeasure out of my eyes. It was quite obvious what kind of customer the father would be, number 3. Under normal circumstances, that would be great. but this time I wanted nothing more than to get to know the family, to be their friend. or let's face it, to be Tyler's friend. Any other thought of conversation was cut off though as the man began to order drinks. No sooner had I taken the orders of Tyler's family than I was hit with an upsurge of customers. In a matter of just 20 minutes, the restaurant was practically overflowing with ravenous tourists. Over the next hour and a half, I made my way back and forth between the kitchen and my tables. Tyler and I shared a couple quick glances, but all in all, as the family got up to leave, I felt thoroughly frustrated at the lack of dialogue which had transgressed between the Tyler and I. As I watched the door swing shut, and the last flash of Tyler's golden hair disappear into the minivan parked outside, I finally managed to turn my attention back to the job at hand. "Sir," a deep manly voice boomed from somewhere beside me. "sir I have been waiting for my food for over 30 minutes now and." I turned towards the man pretending to take interest in what he had to say, while in reality tuning everything out. I smiled, nodded, and apologized profusely for something I had no control over until finally he left me alone. Turning towards the now empty spot where Tyler had just sat, I wondered whether I would see him again. Maybe his family would visit again sometime soon? At least there was one good thing to be said about the whole experience; Tyler's parents were good tippers!