There was something about delivering coffee straight to tables that Francis hated. Maybe because it meant a prolonged encounter with customers he didn’t necessarily like nor dislike. Or maybe because someone seemed to spill their drink on him every time. He couldn’t afford his rent if he had to spend his money constantly replacing his designer shirts. Today he donned a simple gray button-down and his light blue apron, with inexpensive white jeans just in case.
He hummed a soft lullaby under his breath, taking his notepad in hand and sliding it fluidly into his pocket. His dark wooden tray was tucked carefully under his arm. Shoes clicked on the familiar floor of the shop as he made his rounds.
Be friendly, tolerate kids, write down orders, make orders, deliver orders, collect the money and sometimes a tip... The whole process was awfully mundane. He balanced his tray in one hand carefully and set down two cups of coffee with the other just as the door opened. The bell sounded, announcing the arrival of a customer, and his concentration was torn from being graceful. One of the cups teetered on the edge of the table precariously.
He didn’t notice, though, and flashed a smile at Alfred, who, he noticed, had just come in. The customer whom the dangerous cup of coffee belonged to reached out to steady it. Francis’ own hand went to motion to a table that Alfred could sit down at. The both connected with the cup at the same time, and the scalding liquid spilt from the table and directly onto Francis.
His first reaction was ‘damn, that’s hot’, because as it was the coffee was seeping through his jeans and burning his skin. His second was ‘damn, I have to clean that up’. And his third was ‘damn, Alfred is laughing at me’. And the little American was indeed laughing. Francis scowled at him, apologized to the customer quickly, and dashed into the nearest cleaning supplies closet for a rag.
He fumbled around in the dark for a moment before finding a light switch. A glorious array of brooms, mops, and surface cleaners greeted him. The first rag he spotted was yanked from its place and taken back to the interior of the shop.
“Once again, madame, my apologies,” he said gently, bending over to sop up the splattered coffee. He made quick work of it. Soon he was picking up the bigger shards of broken glass.
“It’s not a big deal.” He smiled. At least she hadn’t been so worked up over it.
Before he returned to the bar area, he made his way towards Alfred. “It is not polite to laugh,” he said first, and then he looked over his shoulder at an empty table. “Would you like to sit today?”
“Why? Hoping to join me?” An easy smirk played out on Alfred’s features, and Francis hated how natural it looked on him. He crossed his arms over his chest.
“Non. You’ve just been standing there and you haven’t gotten in line yet. I am simply doing my job.”
“I’d love to sit down.” Francis simply glared. Ah, of course, go ahead and ignore me. So very appreciated. He was too busy being mad to catch exactly what Alfred had mumbled next.
“Excusez-moi?”
“For the record, you’re, ah, welcome to sit with me.”
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Not Quite What I Ordered [3A/?]
(Anonymous) 2012-02-05 05:13 pm (UTC)(link)He hummed a soft lullaby under his breath, taking his notepad in hand and sliding it fluidly into his pocket. His dark wooden tray was tucked carefully under his arm. Shoes clicked on the familiar floor of the shop as he made his rounds.
Be friendly, tolerate kids, write down orders, make orders, deliver orders, collect the money and sometimes a tip... The whole process was awfully mundane. He balanced his tray in one hand carefully and set down two cups of coffee with the other just as the door opened. The bell sounded, announcing the arrival of a customer, and his concentration was torn from being graceful. One of the cups teetered on the edge of the table precariously.
He didn’t notice, though, and flashed a smile at Alfred, who, he noticed, had just come in. The customer whom the dangerous cup of coffee belonged to reached out to steady it. Francis’ own hand went to motion to a table that Alfred could sit down at. The both connected with the cup at the same time, and the scalding liquid spilt from the table and directly onto Francis.
His first reaction was ‘damn, that’s hot’, because as it was the coffee was seeping through his jeans and burning his skin. His second was ‘damn, I have to clean that up’. And his third was ‘damn, Alfred is laughing at me’. And the little American was indeed laughing. Francis scowled at him, apologized to the customer quickly, and dashed into the nearest cleaning supplies closet for a rag.
He fumbled around in the dark for a moment before finding a light switch. A glorious array of brooms, mops, and surface cleaners greeted him. The first rag he spotted was yanked from its place and taken back to the interior of the shop.
“Once again, madame, my apologies,” he said gently, bending over to sop up the splattered coffee. He made quick work of it. Soon he was picking up the bigger shards of broken glass.
“It’s not a big deal.” He smiled. At least she hadn’t been so worked up over it.
Before he returned to the bar area, he made his way towards Alfred. “It is not polite to laugh,” he said first, and then he looked over his shoulder at an empty table. “Would you like to sit today?”
“Why? Hoping to join me?” An easy smirk played out on Alfred’s features, and Francis hated how natural it looked on him. He crossed his arms over his chest.
“Non. You’ve just been standing there and you haven’t gotten in line yet. I am simply doing my job.”
“I’d love to sit down.” Francis simply glared. Ah, of course, go ahead and ignore me. So very appreciated. He was too busy being mad to catch exactly what Alfred had mumbled next.
“Excusez-moi?”
“For the record, you’re, ah, welcome to sit with me.”
“Let me finish my shift.”
“Alright.”