The very next morning, Samantha marched herself over to Scooters, asked to see the manager, and declared her intent to become a Scooters waitress. The manager was thrilled. As the woman in the park had told Sam, the restaurant was currently short on waitresses.

"Now, there's just a few questions I have to ask you," said the manager to Sam, looking at a piece of paper, "Now, let's see... Can you be charming?"

"Um..." Sam thought. Darrin had always told her she was great with house guests. "Yes, I can be charming."

"Do you have the ability to maintain a fit and attractive image?"

Hmm. I'm pretty active, I try not to eat too much, I wash my hair every other day. Maybe if I start skipping dessert...

"Yes, I can do that."

"Are you able to walk in a fashion which the male species finds attractive?"

What? What was that supposed to mean?

"I can try."

"Let me see."

Samantha walked to the opposite end of the room and back.

"Meh... It'll do," said the manager, "And one final question: What is your bra size?"

Dear Lord, what have I gotten myself into?

Samantha's weak, discomfited reply proved to be satisfactory, and the manager informed her that she was officially hired.

"Congratulations," she said (yes, the manager was a very macho "she"), "You're officially a Scooters Girl."

Samantha was delighted, or at least she wanted to be delighted. With her history of getting fired just as soon as she was hired, she didnt want to get her hopes up this time.

"Oh, there's just one thing," she remembered as they were finishing up, "I can only work weekdays until late afternoon. No evenings or weekends. Is that okay?"

Darrin didn't work on weekends, and he came home in the evening. In order to keep this all a secret from him, Sam would have to work while he was gone.

"That works just fine," the manager said in a gruff but pleasant manner, "You can start on Monday. We'll see you at 10:30 AM sharp."

And so, the weekend passed, and at 10:45 AM on Monday morning, Samantha was there at Scooters, setting the tables before the restaurant opened, arrayed in her new, iconic Scooters Girl outfit. Said outfit consisted of a very tight, very low-cut white tank top that provided just enough coverage to not be classified as an underthing. The Scooters logo- the name in big red capital letters with the two O's as the duck's eyes- was emblazoned across the front of the tank. This was paired with bright red short shorts- the shortest short shorts Samantha had ever seen in her unnaturally long life.

"These aren't shorts, these are underpants!" she had exclaimed when a fellow waitress had handed her her new uniform. They were so tight, she wondered if they had given her the wrong size. As she continued assembling the table settings, she was terrified to bend for fear that the seat of her too-tight shorts would split open in front of everyone. She suddenly regretted the decision to wear the lizard-print knickers Darrin had given her as a gag gift last Christmas. She moved awkwardly as she worked, partly because she felt so self-conscious, and partly because she wasn't used to the feeling of her thangs being constantly shoved up in her face. She felt as exposed as if she were waltzing around the restaurant in her underwear, and the only thing that made it a little better was the fact that the other waitresses were wearing the same thing too. Hmm... was the Heavy Heifers album really this important?

A bell dinged. "Alright, ladies! Line up!" Samantha heard her new boss, the manager who had interviewed her the other day, yell. Her boss this time around was a butch lesbian woman called Thelma (which explained why she was working at Scooters in the first place). Thelma was the only female working at the restaurant who wasn't wearing the skimpy Scooters Girl outfit. She took her job very seriously and insisted on treating it as if she were drill sergeant of a boot camp instead of manager of a casual restaurant.

"Line up, ladies!" Thelma shouted again, continuing to ding the bell. Samantha rushed to copy the other waitresses, who were lining up like soldiers in front of the serving hatch. "Inspection time!" Thelma barked once all four waitresses on shift were in line. She then proceeded to go down the line, slowly looking each waitress over one by one. Nobody moved while Thelma inspected them. They just stood there, frozen like statues. Samantha felt as if they were oxen being auctioned off at a country fair. When Thelma got to the waitress who was standing next to Sam, a brown-haired, nervous-looking thing called Beatrice, she gave her a stern look, then motioned at her own collar.

"Lower," she muttered. Obediently, Beatrice pulled her neckline (or boobline, rather) down a little further.

"Good," Thelma said. Her steely expression never once changed.

She then moved on to Sam, who was last in line. She looked her newest waitress over from head to toe, from side to side. She looked her square in the eye in a discerning manner that made Sam nervous, sort of like the way she had felt at In-N-Out just before the guy threw eggs in her face. The whole ordeal seemed to last an eternnity. At last, Thelma gave a little nod. Samantha had passed the test.

"That's it, ladies!" Thelma proclaimed, "Inspection's over! Get to work! Beatrice! You keep an eye on Stephens! Make sure she doesn't screw anything up on her first day!"

So commenced Samantha's first day on the job as a Scooters waitress. Almost as soon as Thelma had declared inspection time over, the customers began to file in for early lunch. Samantha's mind was boggled- she had never seen so many males in one place before. Not a single woman or child passed through the doors of Scooters that day. Some of the men watched the TVs on the walls while they waited for their food, but most of them just watched the waitresses, their faces like those of eager little boys about to chow down on a triple-scoop ice cream cone. Sam even thought she heard one of them ask Beatrice, her guide for the day, out for "coffee". Five minutes later, she caught a guy ogling her. She covered her nose with her hand, twitched it, and made his lemonade squirt up in his face. I'm married, punk!

And with the current lack of waitresses, there sure was a lot to do. Samantha and the three other Scooters Girls were running around like chickens with their heads cut off, taking and serving countless orders, seating the customers, handing out menus, clearing dirty dishes, wiping tables and re-setting them when the customers were done. There was never a free moment. Gee, if this keeps up, I'll have no problem maintaining a "fit and attractive image", Sam thought, hurrying to the serving hatch to pick up yet another hot plate to serve.

"This one goes to table five," the chef said quickly, motioning to the plate of meatloaf that was waiting in the window. Samantha took a look at it.

"Wait, I thought the meatloaf was supposed to come with barbecue sauce for dipping," she said.

"We ran out," the chef replied and turned away again.

Sam knew this was something she could easily fix. With a simple twitch of her nose, she could instantly conjure up a bottle of barbecue sauce, then pull an "Oh, look what I found laying around here". But not today. Today she was feeling creative. She wanted to try something different.

"Your barbecue sauce is coming, sir," she said as she served the customer his meatloaf. Then she dashed into the kitchen, where she squirted some ketchup into a small bowl. She added some brown sugar, white-wine vinegar, Worcestershire sauce, and a couple teaspoons of paprika. She had seen a mortal chef do this on TV before, and she wanted to give it a try. Struck by a sudden creative whim, she decided to try making it even better and added some cayenne pepper, smoke flavoring, honey, and a dash of pineapple juice.

"STEPHENS!" she heard Thelma roar from the dining room, "Table eight's waiting for their order! Don't make me fire you on your first day!"

"Coming!" Sam called, hurrying to mix up her concoction. After a quick glance around to make sure no one caught her breaking the health rules, she licked the spoon. It was perfect! Yes, it was definitely barbecue sauce. She grabbed her creation and rushed back out to table five to serve it to the customer.

Apparently, Samantha's quick, make-do barbecue sauce was a success, for when she returned to table five a while later to check on the customers, the meatloaf guy looked very happy, and all his buddies were dipping their fries in his sauce too.

"Say, I order the meatloaf here all the time, and I can tell this ain't your usual barbecue sauce, is it?" said the meatloaf customer to Sam.

"Uh, no, sir. We ran out of the usual kind."

"What kind is it? What brand? It's delicious."

"Well, actually," Sam replied, "I just threw it together with a few ingredients we had in the kitchen. You know, just until we get more barbecue sauce."

"Well, little missy, I tip my hat to you. This is ten times better than that usual store-brand stuff. I come from South Carolina, and I say this tastes like the real deal, but even better." The meatloaf guy smiled. All his french-fry-dipping friends agreed. Meatloaf Guy even gave her a small tip.

"Don't let it get to your head, Stephens," said Thelma, watching the exchange from across the room, "If there's one thing I can't stand, it's a waitress with a big head. And hey! Pull up your shorts! I can see your knickers! They got lizards on 'em!"

And so, the days went by, much in the same fashion. Darrin went to the office, Aunt Clara babysat Tabatha, and Samantha worked hard at Scooters. In the afternoons, she came home tired but feeling very productive and pleased with herself, and ready to slap on a house dress or any type of clothing that was actually loose enough to let her breathe. It was a bit of a chore trying to keep her job a secret from Darrin, but still, she managed.

At Scooters, Samantha's improvised barbecue sauce had become a huge success. As Sam soon discovered, Meatloaf Guy and his friends were regulars at the restaurant, and Meatloaf Guy ordered the same thing every day. Only now, he always requested that Sam make his barbecue sauce instead of the usual store-bought sauce. All his friends now wanted Sam's sauce for dipping their fries in, and before long, other customers caught on to their secret too. Everybody was requesting Samantha's special barbecue sauce. Although the restaurant had long since re-stocked on barbecue sauce, most of the bottles sat unused on the kitchen shelf. By the end of the week, Thelma had had Samantha mix up a huge amount of the sauce, which they then packed into jars. These jars now sat on the restaurant tables along with the salt and pepper, labeled in Sharpie pen "Samantha's BBQ Sauce".

Yes, everything was well in the world of Samantha Stephens. She was happy and busy and looking forward to her first pay day. Everything was playing out just as she'd hoped.

...

One Wednesday morning two weeks after Sam had started her secret job, Darrin woke up late. He'd forgotten to set his alarm clock the night before, and now he was running late for work. Why didn't Samantha wake him up? Well, she had stayed up far too late last night catching up on re-runs of Bonanza and had overslept too. When Darrin finally woke up, he yelled at Sam for not waking him, then rushed frantically to get ready for work.

He got dressed in record time, then ran downstairs with his briefcase where Samantha was standing by dining room table.

"I poured you a bowl of cereal," she said as Darrin made a beeline for the door, still slicking back his hair gel.

"Sorry, sweetheart, I don't have time to eat," he replied in a hurry.

"But you have to eat breakfast! You'll get all shaky if you don't."

"I don't have time. It's okay, skipping breakfast will do my waistline some good, anyway."

"Well, alright. If you say so."

But just a few hours later, Darrin found that Sam was right.

He had started his work day that morning with a workshop on the other side of town. As he drove back to McMann and Tate, he was so hungry that he started to get a good case of the shakes. When he started to feel dizzy, he knew that he had to get some food inside him before he passed out. He pulled into the nearest strip mall.

There were two places to eat here: a small Mexican joint and a Scooters. Darrin couldn't stand Mexican food. Plus, it always made him bloat. Sam would kill him if she knew he'd gone to Scooters, but right now he had no choice. He had to eat something before his blood sugar dropped to a dangerous level and he passed out at the wheel. Yep, Scooters it would have to be. Darrin turned off the car and headed inside.

...

It was another typical day at Scooters, but busier than usual. The lunch rush had started early today. Samantha had already served the wrong drinks to the wrong table and gotten yelled at by Thelma, so now she was trying extra hard not to screw anything up. She still was secretly afraid of getting fired a fourth time.

"A new customer just got seated at table ten, Sam," fellow waitress Magda informed Sam as she was dumping off a load of dirty dishes in the kitchen. Table ten was one of Sam's tables.

"Thanks, Magda. I'll go take care of him right now." She placed the last of the dishes into the dishwasher and headed out to the dining room. She could already see the man at table ten hunched over his menu. Huh, that guy sure looks like Darrin from the back, she thought in amusement as she approached. She pulled her notepad and pencil from her waist pouch.

"Hi, my name is Samantha and I'll be taking care of you today. Can I get any drinks started for y- "

At that moment, Sam looked up from her notepad at the same time that the man looked up from his menu and stopped short. Oh, the horror.

"D-Darrin?"

"SAM?!"

Oh, no. Ohnoohnoohnoohno.

"W-what are you doing here?!" Samantha stammered. It was suddenly hitting her that her own husband had dared to dine at Scooters.

"What am I doing here? What are YOU doing here?! What are you wearing?!" Darrin cried.

"I- uh... uh... I work here now?"

Darrin stared at his wife in utter shock.

"WHAT?! Since when? I didn't know!"

Samantha felt herself turning red as she realized that everyone was looking at them. Every single soul in the restaurant had gone completely quiet. She grimaced. "Well..."

Darrin shot up from his seat with the rage of a grizzly bear prematurely awakened from hibernation.

"That's IT!" he yelled, "No wife of mine works at Scooters! Come on, we're going home!" And before Samantha even had a chance to protest, he dragged her out the door, leaving behind a captivated audience.

Once they were outside, Darrin slammed the door shut and turned to face his wife.

"Look here!" he exclaimed furiously, "I don't know what got into you to be sneaking around behind my back like this in the first place, but let me make one thing clear: There is NO WAY I'm going to have MY wife prancing around in public dressed like that! Nancy Sinatra was more covered-up than you are when she posed for her latest album cover!"

"At least we get to wear shorts."

"Those aren't shorts, those are underpants!"

"Darrin, please- "

"Don't you 'please' me! I'm not through with you yet! You- "

"Now, just wait a minute!" Samantha interrupted him. She had had enough. "Before you get on your high horse with me, let me tell you why I'm doing this! I'm doing it for you! That's right, for you! Remember that Heavy Heifers album in the antique store you got all excited about a few weeks ago? The one that cost a hundred bajillion dollars? I got a job so I could buy it for you for your birthday! I wanted to earn all the money for it myself because I knew it would make you proud. That's why I'm doing this! And remember that hot dog mascot you read about in the paper? The one that fell on a bunch of kids and broke a five year old's elbow? That was me! I was the hot dog! I've been fired from three different jobs and been through hell just for you! I didn't tell you 'cause I wanted it to be a surprise!"

Darrin looked dumbfounded. He had gone totally silent. Samantha couldn't tell if he was loosening up or if he was going to yell at her again.

"You would do all this ... for me?" he finally managed to say.

She nodded. "Yes."

"You would throw away your dignity and self-respect and put on that skimpy outfit just for me?"

She nodded again. Darrin looked deeply touched. He immediately softened up.

"Oh, Sam, I'm... I'm sorry. I didn't know. I feel like such an ingrate now."

"It's okay. Like you said, you had no idea."

"I just can't believe you would do something like this for me... But, honey, you're a smart witch. Why Scooters? You could've had any other job and you picked this."

"Like I said, I kept getting fired from the other jobs. This has been the only job I've been able to hold so far."

"Fired? Why?"

Samantha chuckled awkwardly and pulled at her hair. "Well... that's a story for later."

Darrin accepted this answer. "Alright," he shrugged, then changed the subject, "Look. Now that I know why you're doing this, you can keep your Scooters job. Only if you still want to, that is. I was an idiot today and if you don't want to buy me that album anymore, it's perfectly understandable."

"Of course I still want to buy you the album! I'm not going to let one little misunderstanding foil my plans," Sam assured him, "It's only until your birthday. Then I'm going to quit and go back to staying home."

They made up, and all was forgiven. But just before they went back inside, Darrin took off his blazer.

"But as long as I'm here, do me a favor- cover up," he said and put the blazer on Sam.

They re-entered the restaurant to a chorus of applause from the diners. Some even whistled.

"Hey, take off that jacket! That's not what our customers are paying to see!" Thelma barked as Sam slunk back in. The sleeves of the blazer were too long and hung down past her hands.

"I'M HER HUSBAND AND I SAY SHE WEARS IT!" bellowed Darrin in response, and that was the end of that. The blazer stayed on until he had finished his meal and gone back to work.

Stay tuned for Part 3...