“Ugh thank god we’re done,” I said to Jerome as I took off my apron. “Tips were shit tonight.”
He was washing his hands and flicked some water at me. “For real, dude. That 7-top completely stiffed me. $230 bill, the fucks.” He dried his hands with a paper towel and tossed it away. “Tom didn’t do shit.”
Tom was the manager. Young, short, rotund, definitely something to prove. He hated Jerome and didn’t hide it.
“That’s truly fucked,” I scoffed. “We need new jobs.”
“Yup. Hey, feel like getting a drink? It’s Karaoke night over at Preston’s.”
“Nah, not tonight. The new season of Mindhunter is up and I’m sucked in,” I said.
“Dude. It’s streaming. It’ll still be there at 2 a.m.,” Jerome snorted.
Really, I didn’t wanna go be his wingman. Girls *loved* Jerome. Tall, lightly olive skinned, cool jet black hair, that Maroon 5 pseudo-beard. He was a good guy, but he got all the ass when we went out. I’m not ugly. Tall, thin, reddish-blonde hair. I’m cute where he’s striking.
“Yeah, I know. I’m just..I dunno. I’d rather just go burn one and chill, ya know?”