understand perfectly well,” I said, trying unsuccessfully to keep the irritation out of my voice, “which is why I—”
Angry Lady #1 cut me off. “Well then, could you make us a replacement? In a pot that has never, ever touched raw meat?” She fussed with the silk scarf around her neck, and I briefly contemplated choking her with it.
“I’m so sorry,” Nat cut in as he stepped up next to me.
“The kitchen just closed.” That was true. I’d sent Krai home as soon as he’d finished remaking the first curry, since he’d already stayed past the end of his shift.
“Then you should reopen it,” the first woman said, crossing her arms and staring at me and Nat defiantly. “It’s important that this dish be completely vegan. If there’s any possibility that—”
“I’m sorry,” I interrupted her, “but earlier you only specified vegetarian. You’re drinking an iced tea with milk in it. So obviously you’re not actually allergic—”
“It’s not an allergy, sweetie, it’s a preference,” said the other woman. “But you know what, if you’re going to be this Difficult, just forget it. You won’t be seeing us again.”
“That’s fine,” I snapped. Nat elbowed me. I elbowed him right back. What was the point of trying to be nice if they were just going to leave anyway?
The two women started gathering their purses and coats, although not before sucking the very last dregs of iced tea from their straws. They threw down barely enough cash to cover the bill and headed toward the door, lecturing me the whole way. “It’s a shame that your establishment doesn’t value customer service. Or sensitivity to people’s preferences. Or proper food preparation techniques.” They were trading sentences, and their voices grew shriller with every word. “Rest assured we’ll be contacting the Health Department about this. And we’re telling all our friends to never come here!”
“Good. We don’t want to see them either,” I muttered under my breath, shutting the door as they swept through it and flipping the sign to CLOSED. I clicked the lock and turned around to find Nat shaking his head.
“Dude,” he said.
“Dude,” I agreed. I looked around the dining room, thought about the mess in the kitchen, relived the entire evening in my head, and suddenly felt very, very tired. “Hey,” I said. “What if we went home right now and just did a double cleanup tomorrow night?”
“What, just leave it as is through both the lunch and dinner shifts? That’s kind of gross,” Nat pointed out. After a moment he added, “And I love it. Let’s go.” I grinned at him, grabbed our coats, and we left the restaurant right then.
I spent most of Monday morning totally high from the anticipation of getting to drive to school; my dad’s Prizm was with my parents in D.C., but my mom’s ancient red Corolla was all mine and Nat’s while they were gone. Sarah seemed pretty amused by my giddiness, pointing out as she climbed into the passenger seat and buckled her seat belt, “It’s not like you haven’t driven before.”
“Yeah,” I said, slowly backing out of her driveway as her fat orange cat, Moxie, took her sweet time strolling out of the path of the wheels. “But I never got to drive to school before. I get to park in the lot today like everyone else with normal, non-paranoid parents.”
“Yeah, but when Mom drops us off, we don’t have to walk like, eight miles,” Nat said from the backseat. An exaggeration, but he had a point—the student parking lot is huge, and if you don’t get there at least half an hour before school starts, you end up stuck way out by the baseball diamond.
“Quit raining on my parade,” I said, gleefully speeding up in order to pass a school bus.
“Just saying.” He leaned up against the window and pulled his baseball cap down over his face to catch another five minutes of sleep.
“So if they’re cool with you driving now, do you think they’ll let you
Angry Lady #1 cut me off. “Well then, could you make us a replacement? In a pot that has never, ever touched raw meat?” She fussed with the silk scarf around her neck, and I briefly contemplated choking her with it.
“I’m so sorry,” Nat cut in as he stepped up next to me.
“The kitchen just closed.” That was true. I’d sent Krai home as soon as he’d finished remaking the first curry, since he’d already stayed past the end of his shift.
“Then you should reopen it,” the first woman said, crossing her arms and staring at me and Nat defiantly. “It’s important that this dish be completely vegan. If there’s any possibility that—”
“I’m sorry,” I interrupted her, “but earlier you only specified vegetarian. You’re drinking an iced tea with milk in it. So obviously you’re not actually allergic—”
“It’s not an allergy, sweetie, it’s a preference,” said the other woman. “But you know what, if you’re going to be this Difficult, just forget it. You won’t be seeing us again.”
“That’s fine,” I snapped. Nat elbowed me. I elbowed him right back. What was the point of trying to be nice if they were just going to leave anyway?
The two women started gathering their purses and coats, although not before sucking the very last dregs of iced tea from their straws. They threw down barely enough cash to cover the bill and headed toward the door, lecturing me the whole way. “It’s a shame that your establishment doesn’t value customer service. Or sensitivity to people’s preferences. Or proper food preparation techniques.” They were trading sentences, and their voices grew shriller with every word. “Rest assured we’ll be contacting the Health Department about this. And we’re telling all our friends to never come here!”
“Good. We don’t want to see them either,” I muttered under my breath, shutting the door as they swept through it and flipping the sign to CLOSED. I clicked the lock and turned around to find Nat shaking his head.
“Dude,” he said.
“Dude,” I agreed. I looked around the dining room, thought about the mess in the kitchen, relived the entire evening in my head, and suddenly felt very, very tired. “Hey,” I said. “What if we went home right now and just did a double cleanup tomorrow night?”
“What, just leave it as is through both the lunch and dinner shifts? That’s kind of gross,” Nat pointed out. After a moment he added, “And I love it. Let’s go.” I grinned at him, grabbed our coats, and we left the restaurant right then.
I spent most of Monday morning totally high from the anticipation of getting to drive to school; my dad’s Prizm was with my parents in D.C., but my mom’s ancient red Corolla was all mine and Nat’s while they were gone. Sarah seemed pretty amused by my giddiness, pointing out as she climbed into the passenger seat and buckled her seat belt, “It’s not like you haven’t driven before.”
“Yeah,” I said, slowly backing out of her driveway as her fat orange cat, Moxie, took her sweet time strolling out of the path of the wheels. “But I never got to drive to school before. I get to park in the lot today like everyone else with normal, non-paranoid parents.”
“Yeah, but when Mom drops us off, we don’t have to walk like, eight miles,” Nat said from the backseat. An exaggeration, but he had a point—the student parking lot is huge, and if you don’t get there at least half an hour before school starts, you end up stuck way out by the baseball diamond.
“Quit raining on my parade,” I said, gleefully speeding up in order to pass a school bus.
“Just saying.” He leaned up against the window and pulled his baseball cap down over his face to catch another five minutes of sleep.
“So if they’re cool with you driving now, do you think they’ll let you
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