This follows on from 'The Gift - Take II' and 'Long Way Home'. I suggest you read those first if you haven't already.
Many thanks, as always, to maineac.
Prologue
This is the third time this month they're short-staffed out front. And who has to help out? Me. Typical. I hate serving. I don't mind the kitchen work; people need to eat. What I mind is helping out front to cover for someone too lazy to come in.
I hate the strict regulations – one meat, two veg, one carb. What if someone doesn't want carbs? Do they get an extra scoop of veg? No. Meat maybe? NO. O-kay. The how matters, how much of this, how many of that. What doesn't matter is the result; do people actually like what they're getting? Are they even getting what they want?
Do we serve people at tables? No. But this is a hospital, maybe people can't walk right. We still don't serve at tables. But… No but. If they can't walk, they shouldn't be down here; they should be upstairs on a ward. No service at the table.
But what about the woman I'm about to serve? She's got her hands full with her baby and her bag. She needs a third hand to carry her tray. Or look, the next man in line, the one who's so obviously annoyed by the baby's grousing. Yeah, Mister, that's what babies do, they cry and they eat and they poop and if you're lucky they sleep when they're supposed to. Bet you don't have one of them at home. But he's leaning to one side, and he's using a cane. I've seen him before. He comes here a lot. How on earth is he going to juggle the tray with a plate and a glass and who knows what on it? I should go and take his tray to a table. The next free table is way at the back. That's a long way with a cane and a tray. Especially if you're as tired as he looks. Maybe one of the other people in line will help him out. But I know they're not going to because they're all just minding their own business. And I can't leave my station. My oh-so-precious daily special station. I'll lose my job if I do.
"Next please!"
"What's the special today?"
It's on the board. Maybe he's too tired to read it, though. "Meatloaf, mixed vegetables and mash or fries."
"Skip the veg and give me some extra fries."
Ah. Can't do that. Might lose my job over it.
"You'll have to pay for an extra portion of fries, Sir."
The look on his face! And those eyes. Like lasers. He thinks I'm just here to piss him off. I don't think he's a very nice person, even when he's not tired and hurting. Wouldn't want to get into an argument with him.
"Are you kidding me?"
Are. You. Kidding. Me. You can hear the tension and the anger underneath. The top layer is as thin as an eggshell. He's leaning forward now, as if he wants to reach over the splashguard on the counter. I shake my head slowly to indicate that no, unfortunately I'm not kidding. It's possibly the most stupid rule they've come up with here. It's not my rule. My rule is, you eat what you like and you get what you pay for. You pay for meatloaf and two sides.
I'm sure those lasers can read what I'm thinking.
He could do with a bit of fattening up.
I quickly check to make sure the supervisor isn't around. Probably on another coffee break. That's her third today. Stupid cow. Different rules for different folks 'round here. Then I straighten my back and face those lasers squarely. I don't even need to look at the food containers – meat to the left, veg in the middle, fries and mash to the right. Two slices, skip the middle and then dig deep into the fries. I don't let those lasers out of my sight. And suddenly, my fingers on the handle are almost touching the fries, I've pushed the scoop in that far, I think I see a spark in that blue. No more lasers. It's little sparklers now, just like Josie had on her birthday cake last month. Only these sparklers are blue. Bright blue. He's laughing. He's laughing, but his lips don't even twitch.
I push the plate onto his tray.
"Enjoy your meal, sir."