"Okay, Izzy, here's your apron!" Jerry handed me one as soon as we walked inside. "You ready to work?" He sounded like one of those restaurant computer games. I felt like I needed a countdown to run to the tables and get their orders before they get really pissed off.
"Yeah, I'm ready." I said. "What do I have to do?"
"Is it okay if I show her?" Mickey asked.
"Be my guest!"
"Yay!" She grabbed my hand and pulled me to an empty corner on the bar. "Okay, so here we get our food and call out the orders and stuff, but we usually trick Jerry into doing it."
"Haha, yes!" I laughed. "Finally, a job where I get to be lazy!"
"I know, right?" She opened up a flap in the bar, went through a door, and brought us into the kitchen. "This is the kitchen. It's really easy to cook because we have these things called 'Handy Crusts' but they're really just hot pockets with barbecue sauce and a fork."
"Awesome! How do you not get in trouble for that?"
"I don't know! Everyone seems to love them! And we charge twice as much as one box of hot pockets for one!" She laughed.
"I love this place."
"Yeah. But sometimes we have to make real stuff, but Jerry only makes us do the sandwiches."
"Oh, that's easy."
"Yeah. But lots of people order them. So be warned."
I lifted an eyebrow.
"Okay come." She said, directing us out of the kitchen and up to the karaoke stage.
I groaned. "Why are we here?"
"Sometimes Jerry feels like he wasted his money on the stage, so sometimes he makes us dress up like weirdos and 'advertise' the karaoke stage and sing obnoxious songs."
"You get used to it."
"I hope so."
"Okay, and do you know how to waitress?"'
"I can try!"
"Okay, go over to that table and waitress." She crossed her arms, acting like she thought I couldn't handle it.
"Okay!" I walked to the table and got out my notepad. I slapped my best fake smile on my face. "Hi, I'm Izzy, I'll be your waitress today. Are we ready with drinks?"
There was a boy about fifteen and a girl who was about twenty. All that ran through my mind was playa!
"What kind of beer do you have?" The boy asked.
"What is wrong with you? You want a beer? How old do you think you are?"
"Thirty two! And I have the ID to prove it!"
"Jack..." The girl said uneasily.
He handed me his "ID". It was made of cardboard with paper glued on it. And it was hand written.
"Yeah, this is fake." I said.
"No! That just proves how lazy New York is these days!"
"Your 'ID' says that you're twenty. Which is under the drinking age. Want me to call the cops?"
"Now, miss, I think you're over reacting." The girl butted in.
"Was I talking to you?"
"Both of you, out of my restaurant!"
"What?" Jack exclaimed.
They both ran out the door, leaving the fake ID on the table. I grabbed it, and strolled back to Mickey. "I told you I could waitress."