The Restaurant

By Lara Lijewski

Meet Parker Flint: broke college student and desperate for a job. Luckily, her brother works at The Restaurant, a well known establishment in the area. As a shy introvert, Parker believes this could be her chance to become the confident and independent woman her parents want her to be.

Parker is optimistic and starts almost right away. She quickly finds that hard work does not necessarily pay off. Although she is happy that the butterflies in her stomach have almost disappeared, Parker struggles with the rude and ultimately cruel customers she encounters. She relies on humor, patience, and optimism to face the harsh realities of the workplace.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Feb 19, 2016
• ISBN: 9781504981286

Lara Lijewski

Lara Lijewski is from Milwaukee, Wisconsin. Her experience as a server inspired her to write this novel. She currently works as an Occupational Therapist. She also enjoys being with her family and friends and writing in her spare time. This is her first novel. Front cover illustration by Anna Lijewski

Book preview

Chapter 1

Interviewing

S o, Parker, tell me about yourself. Jon attempted a smile. It looked more like a crooked smirk. My brother had told me about Jon. He may have looked ornery and disheveled, but he was actually a straightforward manager. My brother was one of the few servers who liked him.

I, on the other hand, was a nervous wreck. I took a deep breath, trying to steady my nerves, and unconsciously pressed my elbows firmly into the table. It was one of my bad habits, though it was better than my other habits of sitting on my hands or wringing them under the table until my knuckles turned white.

Well, I just finished my junior year in college last week. I still have senior year to go and then graduate school. I have some work experience as a secretary. I was actually let go from my last job because I was too efficient. I paused. When Jon didn’t say anything, I smiled out of nervousness. Because of Jon’s curious look, I felt I had to better explain myself. They simply didn’t have enough work for me. They will tell you that I’m a hard worker and catch on quickly. Bottom line is I need a job to pay for school.

You and your brother have the same sense of humor. There was that crooked smile again. Why do you want to work here? was his next question.

Truth was my parents were antsy that I get a steady summer job, and since I was only nineteen, turning twenty in a few days, with little job experience, options were limited. Getting a job fast meant I needed an advantage. My younger brother already working there was my in.

I want people experience. I’m going into a profession that requires good people skills, and a restaurant is a good opportunity to learn those skills. Plus, I think it would be fun to work with John—I mean, JJ. I was used to calling my brother John, but since there were three Johns and a Juan working there at the time, my brother began going by his initials.

What is a restaurant you enjoy, and why?

Well, besides here … I had drawn a blank. It was not as though I didn’t have any favorite places to eat. It was just that my family didn’t go out much. We avoided fast-food restaurants, maybe going to a Taco Bell once or twice a year. There was a good mom-and-pop pizza place that was my favorite, but apparently the thought had been suppressed. I said the first name that popped into my head: Olive Garden. We went there when relatives gave us gift cards. Because the food is always good when I go there and we typically get good service.

I see.

I also like the atmosphere. The tables are big, and you’re never too close to the other tables. You know, it gives you good elbow room. Being from a family of seven—sometimes eight when Aunt Rita showed up—we crowded around a table meant for six and I always found myself fighting for elbow room.

It says here on your application that you would be interested in either being a host or a server. Which would you rather be?

I would like to start as a host. I know JJ had a hard time starting as a server without hosting experience. So, I think it would be better for me. Eventually, I am sure I would like to be a server.

JJ had started as a server. After he screwed up one too many times, the managers were forced to move him to host for a while. Luckily, they liked him too much to fire him. Once he got back into the groove and knew the menu better, he went through training to be a server again. This time the management was happy with him.

Wait here. Jon left the table, heading for the managers’ office and taking his clipboard with him. In a way, I was happy for a break. My face felt hot, while the rest of me was stiff and clammy. Before the interview I had applied concealer on my cheeks, hoping it would eventually hide the redness that I knew would come from being drilled with questions. Now, with no mirrors around, I simply had to hope it was working. I sat back in my chair, placing my hands in my lap, fighting the urge to put my cool hands on my face.

I hate interviews, I thought as I inhaled another deep breath. Already the air felt cool around my face. I looked up. Over the table was a chandelier. I finally made the connection that I had been leaning directly under its hot rays of light. A few more minutes passed by. A few servers smiled or winked at me as they walked past. Apparently everyone had heard that JJ Flint’s sister was being interviewed.

Jon came out of the office with his clipboard, looking all business. I need to schedule a second interview for you with Casey. He listed a few times in the next couple of days. I was to come the following day at eleven o’clock.

The next day came all too soon.

In contrast with Jon, Casey was loved by all of the servers, but I found him harder to read. To me, he looked like an experienced bodyguard. He was well over six feet tall, bald, and built, with piercing eyes. I am the type of person who looks people in the eye when speaking to them. With Casey, it was harder to do. Even though he presented himself as a calm and collected man, his eyes made me jumpy, as if I was being interrogated. I was sure he had a built-in lie detector behind those eyes.

Casey asked me questions more along the lines of the job, giving me different scenarios that may happen with customers and asking me how I would fix problems or address issues as they arose. I tried to be creative, apologizing when needed and offering free meals or alternatives, but then I found out I didn’t have the power to do it.

Casey then left me to complete a personality test. I was already tired from answering his questions. These new questions were multiple choice. I blundered through them. All the answers seemed to blend together. I also had to answer on a Scantron, which I was never good at. I left the interview sure that I blew it.

Days passed without a phone call.

Why haven’t they called yet? my mom pestered me. She was filling the teapot with fresh water. My stomach growled, so I checked the clock. It was almost three o’clock. Since being in sports, I was hungry all the time. I was sad to find it was too early to start dinner and eyed the bag of pretzels on top of the fridge.

I’m sure they will soon. They said it could take up to two weeks before they call, I said. Along with interviews, I also hated calling people. I turned back to my laptop. I enjoyed the hobby of writing in my spare time. Now I had lost my place.

You should call them. The teapot was full. She proceeded to turn the water off and walk over to the stove.

No, Mom. I’m not going to be a pest. They will call when they call. I was beginning to feel irritated.

The teapot clanked as Mom set it down on the stove too quickly. John lumbered into the kitchen. He wore his work clothes and opened the cupboard to get a glass. The doors squeaked happily on their hinges as they opened. I always felt like they liked being left open so that they could give my family members a sharp whack on the head, but not today. They squeaked with disappointment as John closed them back up.

John, when you go into work today, you should ask if they are going to hire Parker, Mom said as she turned the stove on.

No, he shouldn’t! I chimed in.

Parker’s right, Mom. John sounded just as irritated as me. He pulled on the refrigerator door roughly before bringing the milk out. I’m not going to ask. It’s awkward, and they don’t want me asking about it.

Well, Parker, you should still call. Mom turned back to me.

They don’t want her calling, Mom. They will call her. It takes two weeks. John had already poured a tall glass of milk and was in the process of replacing the carton in the refrigerator door.

Fine. I’m just trying to help. She walked out of the kitchen. John and I looked at each other, shaking our heads.

John, can you pass me the pretzels? I pointed at them. Up there.

He looked at me with slight annoyance before he tossed the bag across the room.

Thanks. I greedily opened the bag and dug in.

Lo and behold, three days later I got the phone call. It was Jon, and I was to come in at my earliest convenience to complete the paperwork. Along with the paperwork were two lamely produced training videos about appropriate workplace behavior.

Once John found out I was hired, he told me that I had actually failed the personality test. They hired me because I had interviewed well and did not give off the impression that the failed personality test did. He gave me grief for weeks. In fact, he still does occasionally.

Chapter 2

Training

M y first day of training was on my birthday. I had arrived ten minutes early with my hair in a ponytail and wearing my freshly bought black attire. The host I was going to be training with hadn’t arrived yet, so I began to walk toward the other employees.

As a shy introvert, the thought of meeting new people made me uneasy. I already felt flushed.

Pull yourself together! I internally screamed at myself for being such a scaredy-cat. Deep breaths. Everything will be fine. I forced a smile as one of the servers turned to look at me.

Hi, I’m Parker. I tried talking louder than my typically quiet voice.

Well, hello there. A woman turned to greet me. She was about my height and had stringy dark-brown hair. Bangs framed her pale face and the rest of her short hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail. Her weight had definitely seen better days, but her grouchy features disappeared when she returned a smile. She looked to be in her early forties, although I could have been mistaken.

You’re JJ’s sister, aren’t you?

I nodded.

You look so much alike! She took a bite of her Lean Cuisine. I read her name tag. It said Mary.

The other server sat across from her. She had looked up to acknowledge me and was in the middle of wolfing down breakfast from McDonald’s. The combination of the two smells was sickening.

She really do! The second woman had swallowed while Mary talked and was now laughing. The gap between her two front teeth showed. Her chubby tummy vibrated with the effort. Her name tag said Phyllis.

Phyllis looked about the same age as Mary, maybe slightly younger, and had a dark complexion. Even though she was chunky in places, she was also tall and built. I wouldn’t want to meet her in a dark alley, and if I did, I would want her to be on my side.

They both seemed like very nice women, and after a few minutes of conversation, I began to feel more comfortable in my skin. They asked me questions about JJ. In return I found out that they had worked at this restaurant for about five years apiece. I got the impression that they were established, set in their ways, and they didn’t want to be messed with.

They assumed JJ was my older brother since he was taller, more outgoing, and (since he was trying to grow a beard) looked older. This wasn’t the first time someone had thought I was younger. When I was a freshman in college, one of the janitors saw me studying in the library one day. I heard his keys jingling way before he walked past. As he did, he saw me and took a step back.

Where is your mother? The janitor eyed me as if I were a small child. He was an older gentleman with graying and whitening hair. He was very skinny and walked with a limp—or was it a swagger?

Excuse me? I wasn’t sure if I heard him correctly.

Now what are you doing by yourself up here? You’re too young. Where is your mother?

I’m a student.

You don’t go to college. Although it was a statement, the confusion on his face created a question.

I go to school here. I said slowly, feeling confused myself.

Nuh-uh. He shook his head in disbelief. Naw. No. That can’t be. A smile crossed his face. He suddenly found it amusing and embarrassing all at once. I’m sorry. It’s just that you look so young, as if you’re eleven or twelve years old.

No, really, I go to school here! Want to see my ID? I began to fumble in my backpack. I had