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“What do you mean they resigned by text?”
I was standing at the heart of Descartes’s dining area, surrounded by rustic décor, stained glass, and useless idiots. I was two idiots short, though. Donny and Heather, my servers, had decided to quit together and hand me a generous twenty minutes’ notice, along with a figurative middle finger.
“Let me explain again. I’ll refrain from using big scary words this time.” Rhyland, my restaurant manager, smoothed his crisp dress shirt with his palm, ignoring the staff milling around us to get the place ready for service. “Now, I’m going to talk extra slowly, since I know your brain short-circuits once you’re pissed off. So Donny took out his phone, typed out a text saying he and Heather weren’t going to show up for service today, and hit the Sen
