Service With A Smile

There was only one rule: don’t open the door. Jerry reminded himself of this as the woman screamed, spittle flying from her mouth.

‘And another thing!’ She bellowed. ‘Who can’t cook a steak properly?!’

He watched as she slapped the bloody steak onto the white tablecloth, staining it. ‘Does that look well-done to you?’

He clung to his doctor’s voice, muttering the rule under his breath. He had only been out of the nut-house three months, and this was his first job in years. People had apparently become more intolerable during his most recent incarceration. It’s not like he even cooked the food.

‘To add insult to injury,’ she continued, ‘my cutlery isn’t even clean!’

‘I’ll get you some more,’ Jerry muttered. With every step, he became angrier. Her screeching felt like nails on a chalkboard.

Don’t open the door. Don’t open the door.

He made his way back towards the spectacle, clutching the steak knife.

She was standing now, and everyone was staring as she put on her coat, yelling about sloppy standards.

Jerry felt his face getting warmer. He looked at the floor and offered the cutlery to the woman, who laughed loudly.

‘Hey dumbass, I’m leaving. I’ve had enough.’

‘Please, don’t laugh at me.’

Her spiteful laughter tore through Jerry as he closed his eyes and repeated the phrase desperately, his voice getting louder and louder.

‘Jesus, are you all seeing this? They have crackpots working here!’

Jerry stopped talking. A switch flipped. He opened his eyes, smiling at the carpet. Slowly, raising his head to look at her, the steak knife shook in his hand.

She froze at the sight of him.

‘Uh oh,’ he whispered.

‘What?’ she asked, a sudden fear in her eyes.

‘Door’s open,’ answered Jerry with a wicked grin.