Date: Thu, 7 May 2009 19:12:28 -0400
From: J. B. August <augustartjb@gmail.com>
Subject: Impact: Chapter 1- You Just Got Served

This story is a purely fictional account of something which only happened
in my mind.  All coincidental similarities between people in the story and
those in real life are just that, coincidence.  I own this story, and
therefor would really appreciate it if you told me before posting it on
other sites, or using characters from it in other spin off stories;
although I doubt that will happen :P This story may contain acts between
minors which some people might consider offensive.  If you are in this
group, please do not read. Please follow the laws, whatever they may be, in
your country of residence. and so on and so forth. Otherwise, enjoy the
story! If you have any comments, suggestion, or whatever, you can email me
at Augustartjb@gmail.com .

Impact:
Chapter 1- You just got served

I gazed unseeingly out of the now spotless window, tossing the grubby rag I
had been holding into a bucket full of lukewarm, grayish liquid.  Droplets
of dirty cleaning solution and translucent water splashed onto my leg,
soaking through the fabric of my long black slacks and slowly dripping down
my right calf until I could feel wetness in the bottom of my shoe.  I
hardly noticed.  Rays of unrelenting sunlight poured into the large dining
room, but it did little in the way of keeping the place lit.  The building
was empty, or as close to empty as it ever got, and who could blame anyone
for not wanting to spend their time inside of some stuffy restaurant on a
day like this.  Even the clouds had taken the day off, leaving a wide
expanse of blue sky as far as the eye could see.  And where was I?  Stuck
in this place all day, scrubbing windows and mopping the floor.

Don't get me wrong, it wasn't always so bad.  Being a server at an Italian
"Bistro" is good money for a teen, and I was good at making it.  As Jason,
my slightly eccentric, balding, middle-aged boss had so bluntly put it on
my first day here, serving tables is a fine art.  Half the battle is
learning to read what people want, and the other half is giving it to them.
I had soon learned the truth of these words.

In my experience, customers could be broken into three basic categories.
The first were those people who just wanted someone to serve them food in a
quick and friendly manner.  Crack a couple jokes, smile a lot and when the
bill came along, the tip would always be big.

The second type of customer, are those who wanted to be your best friend.
These are the ones I hated the most.  As if it wasn't enough to wait on
them hand and foot, to bring them food, to carry out drink after drink. No,
these were the people who wanted you to make them feel like they were
special.  Although, once you figured it out, it was easier to impress these
types of people than you might think.  Just throw in a comment or two about
how you talked to the chef into making sure their order came out especially
delicious, or else about how you had to dig around the cooler for 10
minutes, but you eventually found that special sauce they were looking for,
and they were yours.

The third kind of customer was my favorite.  Those who walked in, sat down
with their newspaper or magazine, and just wanted to be left alone.
Usually this sort came in the form of a single business man or woman in a
nice button down suit.  No secret here, the easiest way to deal with this
lot was simply to let them be.  Take their order, keep their drinks filled,
and leave them alone.

Being a sever wasn't that bad, but I still resented my father for giving my
mom the bright idea in the first place.  I hardly ever saw the man, maybe
once a year at most when he would fly out to California on vacation with
his other family to `visit' his favorite son, and yet he seemed bound and
determined to be a nuisance in my life.  I mean, the man couldn't even find
the time to call me and check to see how I was, but somehow he had gotten
the idea in my mom's head that I should get a summer job.  I was 17, and I
had managed to weasel my way out of it every year before then.  Mom was
constantly busy, a lawyer for some important firm somewhere here in Cali,
and had little time to worry about what I was doing with my time.  I think
she expected me to follow in her footsteps one day and become a lawyer as
well. somehow I don't think that will ever be on the agenda.  Don't get me
wrong, I had always respected my mother and what she did.  Long story
short, I mostly kept to myself, and she mostly kept to her work.  Between
her monthly paychecks now and the divorce settlement, she was worth a lot
of money, and from what I understood, a good portion of that was mine.
Apparently I had to be 18 before it was officially mine though, so until
then, I was stuck here serving tables.

I was awakened from my stupor by a loud clicking noise in my right ear.  I
turned my head yawning, already knowing what the sound would be.  My boss,
Jason, stood beside me with one hand to his hip, his tongue stuck firm to
the top of his mouth in preparation for a second click.

"Where's your head Shaye?  You have customers waiting.  Boy, sometimes I
don't even know why we keep you on this staff, head always in the clouds."
he trailed off, staring determinately in my direction.  I almost smiled at
the man. almost.  He had a nice enough manner about him, but in my humble
opinion, he thought himself way too important.  His flawlessly ironed suit
and the comb over of hair which didn't quite cover up the balled spot on
his head worked in perfect contrast to my bedraggled appearance.  The first
few buttons of my shirt were undone, and one side had been untucked from
the black pants which I wore.  I didn't think I had washed the work outfit
in a good week.

When I didn't respond fast enough, the second click followed as I had known
it would. I realized that he wasn't about to leave without a response so I
hastily grumbled a quick apology in his direction before turning towards
the entranceway.  Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Jason depart
again back to the broom cupboard sized office in the back of the
restaurant, apparently now satisfied that he had reminded me of my place.
The name tag on the door fell a couple of inches on one side as he closed
the door after him, leaving the name Jason Raston hanging slightly crooked
on the left side.  I couldn't wait till I was done with this job, and I had
just started on Monday.  There was one sun beam of hope at least; it was
Friday.  I clung desperately to this notion, drawing stamina and willpower
only by reminding myself that it would all be over soon.

I turned towards the door again, eyeing up they three new arrivals; a
graying man in his mid to late thirties, a plump young woman with long wavy
brown hair who I assumed to be his wife, and a young girl of maybe two or
three years old whose hair was also brown and curly.  As I stepped close
enough to interact with the couple and their daughter, only to cringed
involuntarily a moment later at both the rancid aroma coming from the young
girls diaper and from the smudges the girl had made on the windowed doorway
n her way in with her grubby little hands; smudges I would have to clean.
I had never really enjoyed the company of small children.  Too much
screaming, too much whining, and too many dirty diapers.  In my mind, the
only thing this family meant was more work for me, and on top of that,
thanks to little miss poops herself in public, I had to clean the door as
well.

"How many?" I asked dully, already pulling out 2 normal menus, and a kids
one, which came with a whole two free crayons.

"Four please," the woman answered in a kindly soprano.  I looked around, a
bit surprised, trying to locate the 4th in their party.  As if to answer my
unspoken question the woman continued, "Tyler is just grabbing the diaper
bag from the car."  Then turning to the little girl again, "someone's made
a messy in her pants hasn't she?"  The child giggled indulgently,
apparently proud of the poop which was now squished up against her rear
end; I tried not to gag.  I showed the three to an empty booth in my
section.  They were my first customer's of the day, and therefore made up
the entirety of my section. As the man and woman sat down, I saw for the
first time a young boy make his way through the front doorway carrying a
large pink bag which obviously did not belong to him. He scanned the room
for a moment before his eyes finally rested upon the family next to me, and
then myself.  I did a double take as he came closer, checking the family
sitting next to me first, and then checking the boy again.

He looked absolutely nothing like the people I had just seated. The boy's
dirty blonde hair clung to the front of his face just below his bright
searching eyes, at that length which couldn't really be considered long,
but at the same time wasn't quite short either.  While the others had pale
skin he was well tanned, but most noticeable of all were his eyes. While
the man and woman sitting at the tables eyes were a simple brownish color,
his eyes were a shade of the lightest blue. I found it hard to believe he
wasn't wearing color contacts or something.  Either this boy had gotten
lucky as hell with his share of gene pool, or his mother had gotten busy
with another man.  I had just determined that this couldn't be the Tyler
the woman had been talking about when right on cue, the boy arrived at the
table.  Slightly out of breath, he handed the bag over to the woman and sat
down in the booth next to the man I assumed to be his father.

 "Jeeze! What do you keep in that thing, bowling balls?" he asked with a
devilish kind of smile towards the pudgy woman across from him.  His voice
was boyish, but had a raspy kind of overtone to it as well.  There was
something both alluring and even a little sexy about that voice.

His parents hardly seemed to notice the boys attempt at a joke, but I
couldn't help but let out a giggle.  He looked up at me for the first time,
showing a row of perfectly straight, bright white teeth.  I couldn't help
but smile back, my heart missing a beat or two.  His eyes entranced me, an
endless ocean of sparkling blue which beckoned me in until I felt like I
might be drowning.  I might have stared at them forever, never being able
to turn away again if at that moment the boy had not turned his head away.
I noticed a rose colored tint slowly spread across his cheeks as he began
to pick at the silverware which I had placed at the table.  I guessed his
age to be around 12 or 13, but I was never any good at guessing ages.  I
felt a little guilty finding a boy that many years younger than me
attractive, but I had learned to live with it.  This was not the first boy
who had made my heart flutter, and he would certainly not be the last.

"Tyler right? Do you want a kids menu?" I asked nonchalantly, hoping that
this might lead to some more information about his age.

He looked up at me with those big blue eyes, appearing to be a little
shocked by something.  It took me a moment to realize that he was probably
wondering how I had known his name.  Rule number one for a server, remember
names. Before I could clarify where I had attained the knowledge, he
answered in that cute boyish voice of his, still not quite looking up in my
direction.

"How old do you think I am?" he asked, an endearing little smirk appearing
across his lips.  Damn, I thought to myself, letting my own smile seep its
way onto my face; he had beaten me at my own game and he didn't even know
it.  "I think you are 13, maybe 14." I said, giving the boy the benefit of
the doubt.  Kids always like it when you guess their ages too high.

"Nooo." he said giggling madly, "I'm 11 _, I'll be 12 in September!  Did
you really think I was 14?" he asked, obviously intrigued by my answer.
Man, he really was young.  I felt a slight pang of guilt again at finding
him so damn attractive, but waved it off easily as I I found my gaze once
again traveling towards his eyes.  "Well, you could have been 14, how
should I know?  You still didn't answer my question though.  Does being 11
mean you don't want a kids menu?"

He scrunched up his nose at this, preparing to answer the question.  Before
the boy could answer my question, the man spoke up for the first time,
managing to startle me half to death and ruin the little game we had going
in one foul swoop.

"He'll take a kids menu thanks," he said curtly.

"But I." Tyler began to protest, but the man's cold look cut him off before
he could finish the sentence.

I tried not to let a frown cross my face, but I am not sure that I was able
to keep the displeasure out of my eyes.  It was quite obvious what kind of
customer the father would be, number 3.  Under normal circumstances, that
would be great. but this time I wanted nothing more than to get to know the
family, to be their friend. or let's face it, to be Tyler's friend.  Any
other thought of conversation was cut off though as the man began to order
drinks.

No sooner had I taken the orders of Tyler's family than I was hit with an
upsurge of customers.  In a matter of just 20 minutes, the restaurant was
practically overflowing with ravenous tourists.  Over the next hour and a
half, I made my way back and forth between the kitchen and my tables. Tyler
and I shared a couple quick glances, but all in all, as the family got up
to leave, I felt thoroughly frustrated at the lack of dialogue which had
transgressed between the Tyler and I.  As I watched the door swing shut,
and the last flash of Tyler's golden hair disappear into the minivan parked
outside, I finally managed to turn my attention back to the job at hand.

"Sir," a deep manly voice boomed from somewhere beside me. "sir I have been
waiting for my food for over 30 minutes now and."  I turned towards the man
pretending to take interest in what he had to say, while in reality tuning
everything out.

I smiled, nodded, and apologized profusely for something I had no control
over until finally he left me alone.  Turning towards the now empty spot
where Tyler had just sat, I wondered whether I would see him again.  Maybe
his family would visit again sometime soon?  At least there was one good
thing to be said about the whole experience; Tyler's parents were good
tippers!