2
RACHEL
I bolted for the kitchen and went to the utility closet for a broom and dustpan. No, to escape, and pray the earth would split open and swallow me.
Dear Lord, I was the world’s worst waitress. Hands down. There had to be an award for it. One would think a lifetime of eating out would have prepared me to wait on other people, but no. God, no. I was horrible.
Why hadn’t Bessie fired me yet?
I didn’t forget people’s orders—that was the one thing I could do right. I could tally up meal totals without a calculator. But I was clumsy. I couldn’t seem to balance all the dishes on the tray. I hadn’t worked a shift yet where I didn’t break a dish. Or spill something on someone.
But this was the worst. Had I seriously just rubbed that guy’s water-soaked crotch with a towel?
It could p
