The night’s almost over. I’m in the back enjoying a little snack of ciabatta bread and pesto when Arlene, a fellow waitron, interrupts me.

“My customer on table ten wants you to go over and apologize.” she says.

“What the fuck for?” I reply through a mouthful of food.

“He says you banged into him twice when you walked past him.”

“You’re kidding me.”

“Nope. He’s really pissed. Please go and smooth things over.” she pleads.

My restaurant is very small. When it’s busy it’s like a rugby match. The tables are so tightly packed you can’t help but brush up against someone. Occasionally somebody gets smacked.

“Ok. Ok. I’ll go over.” I promise.

Now I just broke up with my girlfriend. My patience is at zero. I scored a half a Xanax from the waiter pharmacopoeia at the start of the night just to get by.

It wore off hours ago.

I wipe my mouth and go to table ten. I place my hand on the guy’s shoulder and say, “Oh you poor baby. I’m sorry.”

The guy stares at me openmouthed.

“I guess you didn’t play much football as a kid.” I add with a wide grin.

“Well I’m very sensitive and I don’t want my girlfriend to beat you up.” he jokes nervously trying to save face. What a little bitch.

“Yes, she’s the only one I’m worried about.” I continue in the same mock humorous vein.

His date laughs softly.

“Just be careful next time.” he says weakly.

“Very good sir. Have a nice evening.” I go back to my pesto.

I delivered an apology and emasculation at the same time. I’m very proud off myself.

Next time I take the whole pill.

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