‘Salt and pepper?’
‘I’ll bring some over, sir. Any sauces?’
‘Ketchup, please darling.’
He gave me that look. That look that they all have that ends by drifting from my face down to my chest and as I walk away I can feel his eyes staring at my rear. The uniform we’re made to wear doesn’t help, tight black trousers and white blouse, top two buttons undone.
‘Table 3, order up!’
I’ll take my customary revenge, my only little moment of satisfaction. I hock a good loogie into his soup and carry it over. Give him the smile as the first spoonful reaches his mouth.
Written for Friday Fictioneers hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields (more details HERE). The idea is to write a short story of 100 words based on the photo prompt (above).