A/N: Hi. I'm Gr33NSTL, just Gr33N usually, and this is my first foray into writing anything creatively in a long time. I'm a sophomore in college (Midwestern US, if you were curious) and I'm a COMM major. I'll be taking a creative writing class in the spring semester and I wanted to get back into the swing of things first, which is my excuse for writing this degenerate crap.
And degenerate it shall be. I've got memes, shipping, sex, drugs, and rock and roll; all in a silly a/u in which Nick picks up a job as a waiter in the summer after his senior year of highschool. Judy is miraculously the same age as him and will fit in somehow or other soon. Expect stupid references, expect me to ask reviewers for input to give me more ideas, and expect a lot of plot holes and bad character development about two-dimensional OCs that will hopefully improve over time. Oh, and don't forget the puns. Lots of puns. Finally, the disclaimer: I claim the free use policy something something Constitution something something don't sue me. Let's get to it.
ALSO! A huge shoutout to my beta reader, Classifiedsophie! Go read all of the Classifiedsophie things they're super good and I do adore them so for taking time out of their life to help some dumbass try to write about animals in a restaurant. And, as with most stories, please do leave me reviews. Let me know what I'm missing for syntax and grammar, let me know if something doesn't flow or feel right while reading, and please do ask me questions about the characters and world I'm creating- it helps me to know what I should be adding and what boring parts to leave out.
SCENES FROM AN ISTALLION RESTAURANT
First Contact
I first saw Nicholas Wilde as he strolled in the front door of Romano's, the restaurant where I work. I couldn't tell you the date but it was very late spring. He waltzed in just before five o'clock. It was an hour or so before the dinner rush, and I had just come in about fifteen minutes before. 4:45 to close, Friday through Monday; those were the hours I worked. He was my first table of the night. Our hostess sat him in section six (the one designated for small mammals like us), with two menus despite the notable absence of any company. I vividly remember that he had a pair of almost-gawdy sunglasses and a green-ish shirt on. What, he was a handsome fox! It's not my fault if I remembered what he was wearing but not the day, he was cute! I'm just a mammal.
"Goooooood afternoon," I began, starting into my usual schpeal, "and welcome to Romano's! How are we doing today, sir?" I flashed him my best smile and he shot back one of the snarkiest smirks I'd ever seen. One of those endearing-yet-infuriating kinds of things.
"I'm getting by, you know how it is," said the fox. "Though I was told this place was authentic Istallion. Your lack of hooves seems to imply otherwise." I had to laugh. As a waiter, I got to meet a lot of mammals. Some were boring, most were a bit rude until I really got to talking with them. I was working to help pay my way through college, and I enjoyed the job. It's hard to find a fox as dishonest when all he's doing is smiling and filling your drinks. But here and there, I'd find a patron or party with whom I would just click and we'd have a good time. Nick was one of those guys.
"Hey, the food is authentic. Real Istallion food made by real Istallion citizens." He didn't laugh, but the way he shot my banter back let me know my hunch about him was right. It was going to be fun.
"So does my non-equine waiter mean I'm not getting the full experience? Better be careful, Stretch, or you'll get a bad review on Yip." The reddish-orangeish fox raised one brow at me. I knew the challenge when I saw it. So, as any rational non-equine working in an almost exclusively equine establishment would do, I put on my best and most blatantly over the top Istallion accent and shot back:
"Oh no my friend, I'm-a the real deal!" I put up my paw with my digits facing upward, in that unmistakable Istallion way. "Let me get you-a something to drink, and I can-a tell-a you all about the history of-a my country." Of course my accent was terrible, but I got my point across. Wilde's smugness seemed to creep upward, and he told me he wanted a Negroni and a water in a perfect Istallion accent. I was beaten, and I couldn't help but smile through my defeat. "Alright, I'll give you that one. You want any kind of spread for your rolls while we wait for our mysterious second guest?" I asked, nodding towards the second menu sitting across the table.
"Don't bother, I'm not really planning on eating anything. Just a business meeting," he shrugged as he pulled out his phone. I took that as my cue to bail, letting him know that I'd send his drink request to the bartender right away. And that's just what I did. While I scooped some ice into a cup and filled it with water, Gloria checked the printer behind the bar and looked up.
"Did he want that tall or short?"
"Shit, lemme ask him." I carried the other fox's water back over to him and pulled a wrapped straw from my apron, setting both onto the table. "Sir, you never specified if you wanted that tall or short," I stated, clasping my paws as I always did. He looked up from his phone and raised his brow again.
"Never say it like that. Don't blame the customer, and don't blame yourself. Just ask how they want it and leave it at that. You never know if someone will think you're talking down to them, and humbling yourself makes you look like you're fishing for tips."
I had to stop and blink a few times. "Oh, ummm… well, actually, that sounds about right." The guy WAS right, too. As a fox I had to be careful to make sure my customers didn't feel like I was trying to manipulate them. When I first began my "career" in food service, I would occasionally make a few sly suggestions to encourage my tables to purchase more expensive options. I learned quickly that most folks held foxes to a certain standard. I either wasn't good at it or it was a bad idea; either way, I got a lot of flack and my share of stiffings once the patron saw through my act. Eventually I figured out that just being genuine and trying to provide the customer with a good experience both made the best money and felt the least stressful. It's hard to come across as a schemer when you're refilling a kid's milk for the umpteenth time in ten minutes, and it was nice getting to pretend that I was just another guy to those mammals.
"Glad you can see it. And make it short." It was then that I first had the thought to check his ID. But, like the big softie that I was, I let it go. He either had a convincing fake or he was of age to speak with that kind of confidence, and even if he was too young I didn't mind cutting a fox a break. I told him his beverage would be right out and padded my way back to the bar, hopping up on a stool and letting Gloria know what Wilde wanted. I spent a minute or two leaning over the edge of the bar and checked my phone, seeing a Snapchat from my girlfriend. As per the usual, a toothy grin filled the gap between my gums when I saw her name. Carra Waltze, a raccoon I had met in my second semester of my freshman year. Loved her to death. But before I had a chance to open the app, I spied my manager coming out from his office down the hall and slid my phone into my apron. He ended up walking toward the back of the establishment, though, as Gloria dropped my drink on the edge of the bar. She had a deft hoof with the funnel system used by the larger barkeeps to work with the smaller utensils required by the less vertically inclined. I slid the drink into the lift and hopped down from the stool, grabbing the glass from the rotisserie built into the side of the bar below and returning to my single table.
As I approached I saw that another of my four assigned booths had been filled: a rabbit couple with four kits. Internally, I groaned; that meant kit cups which meant lids which meant more work for me and hey, that always sucked. I dropped off the alcohol to the fox and asked if he needed anything else. He shook his head without looking up, and I gave the usual "I'll drop back by when the other party member shows up" line before turning my attention to the family. I began my schpeal yet again, putting on my best toothless smile for the little ones, but I knew from the tone of the first one to speak up that I had already lost my shot at getting a decent tip.
"We're all fine, thank you. And we all just want water to drink, a full size house salad, and just one full-size vegetable lasagna." I quickly grabbed my book from my apron and cracked it open, sliding a pen from the right-side pocket of the small black garment adorning my waist. "Six waters, two adult and four kits, a house salad and a veggie lasagna. Will that be all for you?" The rabbit nodded curtly, and I bowed my head toward him. "Sounds great! I'll send that to the back and grab those drinks."
Keep in mind that there was no way I wouldn't have been able to remember what they wanted. I had literally written "screw you" three times over, taking some satisfaction in my petty show of private vengeance. But like the good little fox I was I busied myself with building the bland beverages after typing the order into the computer stationed at fox height next to the bar. As with many restaurants, there was one target demographic- equines and other large mammals, in this case- but Romano's had a section towards the back near the bar that catered to smaller animals. Though not the most popular destination for the shorter species of Zootopia, the family-owned eatery had a good location in Savannah Square. They attracted enough small animal species to warrant the modifications and staffing of a less sizeable waiter or two to serve those patrons, which is why I had a job. I didn't quite get why they had hired a fox, but I had some guesses. Besides, I wasn't about to complain.
I returned to the family with the six waters on one of the only fox-sized trays in the establishment, letting the father know that I had sent their order to the back and would have their meal out soon. He barely even looked up at me. I didn't need to be good at reading faces to know that this bunny wasn't fond of his server. I thought at first that his wife almost looked sympathetic; she was pretty, and I'm fairly certain that I dropped my smile for a moment because I saw a flash of the same eyes my mother gave me when I came home crying after Rose and I split. She dropped the gaze as soon as I saw it, though, and went to hushing one of her kits who was giving me that "OhmigawdizzataFAWX?" look that most bunny kits got when they saw my kind. I always appreciated that kind of thing; some modicum of tact towards me made it easier not to detest the more prejudiced patrons. So, with years of being a theater kit fueling my facade, I asked in what I felt was the least threatening voice I had if they needed anything else while they waited on their meal.
"Get us more rolls for the kits," shot the father without looking at me. He was busying himself with his cell phone, an older looking model of the iCarrot. The kit sitting next to him, who looked like the oldest of them, must have gotten her father in the side with her elbow because he visibly flinched.
"Dad," she spat at him with a glare I found surprisingly unsettling. The larger lagomorph cringed the slightest bit, looking across the table to his wife in a plea for help. She only pursed her lips and looked expectantly toward him. The patriarch of the table, torn between the wrath of his wife and daughter and the dislike of foxes sewn into his DNA for thousands of years, had a choice to make. I guess mating really was important to rabbits, because he chose to swallow his pride rather than to sleep on the couch. He mumbled something I couldn't hear, at which point I glanced over him to the bunny to his left. She rolled her bright violet eyes at me. Armed now with the support of the technically-not-a-rodent daughter, I felt myself slide from the professional no-teeth smile to a more relaxed smirk.
"I'm sorry, sir, could you repeat that? I've got some hearing troubles." And it wasn't a lie, I actually did have a lot of issues hearing with my right ear. I had also learned a long time ago to stand with my left side presented to counter that issue, but it still worked as a good excuse if I ever actually did mishear something. Or if I wanted to feign deafness and make someone repeat something. Like right then.
"Would you please get us some more rolls?" I winked at his daughter, who stifled a giggle. My paw rose to my ear and I leaned in a little further, angling my head.
"I'm sorry sir, I still didn't quite catch that?"
"Would you PLEASE get us some more rolls!?" To be fair, I kind of had it coming. My ear twitched in irritation from the sudden shout so nearby, but I kept the pain off of my face.
"Of course sir, I'd be more than happy to!" I turned tail and walked back toward my other patron, who had been joined by yet another fox: a fennec. I heard him mutter something about biting the red fox's face off as I approached. "Goooooood afternoon sir, glad you could join us today! My name is Thomas, and I'll be your server today. I've already fetched a drink for your associate, but is there anything I can do for you?"
The smaller mammal had probably ignored the warnings of his mother one time too many, as his face seemed frozen in a permanent "Try it, I dare you" scowl. "Naw, I'm good. This will be quick," he growled, never taking his eyes off of his tablemate. I got the hint and told the two to just wave if they needed me, trekking my way into the server's hallway and giving Antonio a tap on the shin.
"Do me a favor and grab me two baskets?" I called up to him, stepping a few paces further to snag a pawful of Small Mammal sized margarine packets. Antonio, one of the two busboys for the day, glanced down at me and retreated from his place leaning on the counter.
"You have two tables and I can barely grab those things. Why would you need me to do it?" He held up his hooves for emphasis. I absolutely knew that it would have been easier on everyone if I had just gotten them myself. The bread warmer had a drawer near the floor which Antonio (or whoever was responsible for that particular task, almost always a busser) kept filled with fresh rolls suited to mammals of my size every few hours.
"603," I responded, ignoring his comment. "What, I gotta send a Snapchat! And I have seniority, and I like watching you do mindless tasks to no benefit. It's a hobby of mine. So pony up and help me out." The dark brown horse laughed, shaking his head.
"Whatever, man. I got you." I tossed the margarine up to him. Antonio did his thing and I snuck out my phone, retreating under the counter so as to avoid the watchful gaze of my boss. I unlocked the device and opened Carra's Snap. We had been talking about my upcoming visit to her family's place out in the Triburrows. I had told her some stupid joke or other, and her Snap depicted her rolling her eyes. "Oh shush," read the caption, "just make sure you bring Sally with you." I flashed the camera my most innocent look. "Sally? I would never consort with another girl, Freckles!" I hit "send" and sheathed my phone, grabbing a sip from my blue plastic bottle stashed next to the me-sized soda fountain before I walked back out into my section.
The bunnies were conversing happily, as bunnies do. They wouldn't need me to bother them for a while. I then took note of another table coming in, this time a pair of otters. I'd have to start up my gig in a moment, as soon as the busser dropped off their initial bread basket. And then there was Wilde. The shorter fox had already left, and I watched the russet vulpine down his drink in one swoop and massage his temples. "What could go wrong," I mused, padding my way over.
"I take it that didn't go as well as you'd hoped?" The moment I spoke, my charge perked up and slid back into his stage persona.
"Well, my 'friend' seems to have a short temper." I laughed aloud at his pun. "Just looking for work, and I might have offended him a bit. You know how it is." He was right, I did know. I was nineteen, almost twenty at the time, and had held three jobs in my day. All of them were basically grunt jobs in the service industry, just about the best a teenage fox can do.
"You're not wrong. But I make between eighty and a hundred and fifty bucks a night, basically getting paid to flirt all day. It's not a bad gig." My conversational partner's ears flattened against his head as he thought. "Not to mention," I continued, "working for horses has its perks. They've never had a real problem with our kind, and I'm pretty sure one of the bosses is a predophile. I'm actually given the benefit of the doubt now and again. Feels nice," I shrugged.
For the first time since I had met him, he took off his sunglasses. Bright emerald eyes looked right through me. "Are you serious?" he asked. I raised one eyebrow, taken aback at the sudden change in demeanor. He had been so chill one moment, and deadpan serious the next.
"Yeah. It's a good gig, trying to pay my way through college."
Nicholas Wilde stared at me for another second or two, not blinking or even breathing (he might have been, I couldn't really tell but the tension in the air was really getting thick) before he sat back and slipped his glasses up his nose. "Well, good luck with that. I pay here, right?" He dropped a ten on the table. "The drink was, what, four bucks? Bring me two back." For the second time that day I had to double take and blink dumbly at him.
"Well, I mean, alright," I muttered after a moment of stunned silence. "Thanks a lot!" If there was ever a way to brighten my day, it was getting a hundred percent tip. I reached into my pocket and pulled out two singles, handing them over. "And, if that's it, I'd like to take just one more moment out of your day to personally thank you very much for coming in." My smile was genuine, and for a second it looked like his was as well. "It's been a pleasure working as your server today, and if you've enjoyed my company even half as much as I've enjoyed yours? You've had twice as much fun as everybody else." The smile was definitely genuine by then. "Have a wonderful day, come back soon, and always ask for Thomas." I bowed politely and turned tail, leaving him to his devices.
With a heavier pocket and a lighter heart, I dropped by the otters' table for a brief moment to let them know I would be with them in a minute or so. They waved it off, telling me to "Take your time," after which I padded into the back to check on the food. The large salad platter and larger lasagna were both waiting on the lower shelf, appropriately sized. It wasn't uncommon for families to order full-sized meals and split them amongst several mouths, especially smaller mammals ordering at restaurants intended for those of a more sizable nature. "Thanks, mate," I called to the chinchilla who had hooked me up. She was both the only female and one of the two non-equines who worked in the kitchen: Carmella. She gave a quick nod before resuming her post as a chef. Though not genetically Istallion, she had been born and raised in that country and maintained a sense of pride in her heritage. It was also a great reason for the Romero clan to hire her.
I stacked six empty plates first, then grabbed one of the two small mitts and slipped it over my left paw. The lasagna, as the heavier of the two dishes, went first; I then used my free paw to balance the salad platter on the edge of the lasagna plate and my forearm. It was a technique that I had spent several weeks practicing before the boss allowed me to run my own food. The lasagna was hot, so I held it under the glove; that way, as it was the last thing I set down, I wouldn't have to try to touch it with an ungloved paw. I slid the stack of plates off the side of the counter with my right pads and carried them through the server hallway toward my section. "HOT PLATES," I called up to the other animals in my way. They got the message and moved to the side, allowing me to pass unabated. I called a thanks over my shoulder and arrived at the table of rabbits.
"Okay, everyone, we have one house salad and a vegetarian lasagna. I've got a stack of plates here for the whole crew," I narrated, setting the aforementioned stack onto the edge of the table. "And keep in mind that the lasagna is hot, so careful touching the plate itself." I set the salad down first, towards the side of the table flush to the wall between the four siblings. I had to lean far over the edge of the table to do so, and I could hear the dad's breath speed up for a moment. "Typical," I thought. "Bunnies. What's a fox to do?" Next I put the lasagna between the two parents. The food in place, I spread the plates among the family. "Just one moment, let me grab some extra napkins for you," I told the crew as I stepped back toward the server isle. A quick count of twelve paper squares brought me back to the booth. I split the stack into two piles of six and dropped one next to each platter. "Does everything look to be in order?"
The mother beat the father to the punch. "Oh, yes, everything looks great. Thank you so much!" I nodded again, flashing my signature "I promise I'm not descending further into the abyss at every waking moment" smile.
"Glad to hear it. I'll leave you to the meal, and if you need anything else, just let me know!"
The rest of the day proceeded as such. The fox stuck out in my mind for obvious reasons, and I thought back to the rabbits as well (a two dollar tip on a twenty dollar meal from the dad, as expected). The daughter's eyes really were pretty, I could give her that much; it didn't hurt that she slipped me an extra four bucks while gesturing to her dad and mouthing "sorry" as she left. Not my type, though; I liked a little more bite with my bark. I walked out that evening with just over ninety dollars, a little slow for a Monday (it was a Monday, definitely, as we only had one busboy and I didn't work most weekdays). I hopped in my little blue Coratta Sport and drove home, gave fifty of my ninety to my mother as part of my payment towards my summer classes, and stayed up for a few hours practicing my Bash. Super Bash Mammals, literally the greatest game of all time, had essentially become my whole life once I started college. The competitive scene was growing and it was a hell of a time. With my two hours of practice finished, I grabbed a few cookies before heading to bed.
I had the following three days off, mostly spent either playing games, getting stoned and spending too much on shakes with my buddies, or working on my summer history class (History 203: The Study of Western Film, literally a class about watching gunslinger movies that turned into a bunch of family movie nights). The usual college kid stuff. To my surprise, I discovered upon my return to work the next Friday that my manager had stripped me of my title as the only fox on staff. Nick Wilde was waiting for me, decked out in the black slacks and collared shirt of a server.