I dumped the ice into the well and faced them. Clara rushed past me into the kitchen to give Ramsey the next wave of orders. Bucket filled, I shoved through the saloon doors. I stomped to the ice machine and filled my bucket, barely acknowledging Ramsey slaving over the grill, the deep fryer sizzling. Pissing people off was one of my God-given talents, but even I had never met such a universally hostile group of people in my life. My nerves were long gone, replaced by anger. As the clock hit six and half the tables were full, I ducked into the back to get more ice, panting for air, strands of hair sticking to my face. The stupid question kept coming, and I quit smiling.
For every smile I offered, I got stony stares and scowls in response. I scrambled to make their drinks, fumbling liquor bottles and forgetting garnishes. A full spectrum of stereotypes was gathering in the pub, and none belonged in the same room together.īefore I got completely overwhelmed, Clara burst out of the kitchen and people shifted over to order food from her. The patrons I’d already served made perfect sense to me-young-ish, single-ish bar-going types-but now I was stumped.
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