Today I only came in to look at next week’s ingredient orders, and to check the inventory in our wine cellar, but there is such a rush that I join in and help wherever necessary.
“Table four is still missing its rhubarb pie,” Demi shouts into the kitchen with irritation.
“It went out minutes ago,” Jamal shouts back.
“Stop messing with me. Then where the hell…”
Amina, chewing on her lips, asks cautiously: “The one with the whipped cream on it?”
“That one,” Demi answers, trying to kill her with her eyes.
“My table ordered the same, so I thought—"
“f**k!” they shout out at the same time. “That was gluten free!”
“Oh, I’m so sorry. I thought—"
“You thought, right?” Demi waves her off as if she had never made a mistake. Stupid b***h. “And the guest will question me about it,” she goes o
