Tiefling Boyfriend: Leary (special preview)

Being a waiter has got to be one of the most under explained jobs out there. When I first took this job, I was hoping to gain some experience and learn about the kitchen. I wanted to be a chef, so I thought this would be a good way to learn about it. Instead, I just learned that being a waiter was like working retail but with more steps. If I didn’t have bills and wanted to live, I would have quit a long time ago. I’m grateful that tips are usually good, but aside from that and free food it’s slowly draining me away.

On my days off I’m usually holed up in my apartment, undressed, unwashed, and slouching on the sofa or over the stove where I am practicing. I want to be a chef, even with everything I have seen and gone through. I love to cook, and one of these days, maybe I can own my own little food truck or cafe. It’s always something cute in my head, nothing grand like the place I work at. After working there, the idea of doing a big restaurant has lost its appeal. Besides, the things I like to cook and make would do better in the small, outdoor seating kind of place anyways.

Whatever I cook I usually leave for my roommate. At least I think I still have a roommate. We work such opposite hours that I rarely ever see him. I like to pretend my apartment is haunted and that the ghost is eating the food and leaving me uplifting notes on the fridge. I do miss having someone to talk to who isn’t part of the restaurant scene.

I think part of why I get good tips is because I am a tiefling. People think I’m some sort of pretty wild bird with fancy plumage, at least that’s how it feels. Because of my appearance, I get touched a lot, which is really unsettling, but also something I have had to teach myself to cope with. I like to keep my hair long, but I’ve had to figure out ways to pin it up because people like to grab at it or ask weird questions about it. It’s hair, just because I have horns and blue skin doesn’t make it somehow magically different or even magical.

Tonight the restaurant is a little slow, so I’m not running around as much. I have a few tables, so I’m trying to pay as much attention to them as possible so hopefully the tips will make up for the lack of seats filled. One such table looks to be a first date. After working here so long I’ve been able to distinguish what sort of dinner people are having. First dates are pretty easy to gauge. One or both is usually nervous, one person often does all the talking, and there are long awkward silences.

This first date is one of the most one sided I have ever seen. You look so nervous, like you’re trying to disarm a bomb. You look so cute too. Your hair is done so nicely, your makeup is sweet, and you’re wearing a really lovely dress too. The guy you’re with has done nothing but talk all evening. Sure, he’s got his own good looks to him, but the flapping of his mouth diminishes all that. When I took your order, you were getting ready to order the bisque, but her interjected and said something that will never not revolt me.

“I think you should have the salad. Don’t you think that’s better for you?”

The look on your face was enough. You agreed to the salad, but your look of disappointment hadn’t faded away. If anything it had only gotten worse as the date went on. Everytime I went to the table to check on you, he was talking sideways out of his mouth about you. The needling like comments were annoying me, I couldn’t imagine what they were doing to you. How could he think he had the right to say such judgemental things to you and pass it off as kind advice?

“You really have a pretty face you know? Your grandmother was so right about that. Imagine if you lost some weight just how truly gorgeous you’d be. You’d be unstoppable.” That made my blood curdle. I had been pretty chubby in my youth and the amount of times that was said to me made me want to remain chubby. It wasn’t his right to comment on such things. Only she could make that decision.

“I don’t have an issue with big girls, I think they’re great.”

I don’t have an issue with my foot up your ass, but you might. I can see that your smile is a painful one. You’re putting up with this so well, but you don’t need to!

“If you dyed your hair you wouldn’t look so frumpy.” What the fuck was even that? I’ve had enough. So when I go to fill his wine glass, I make sure to cause problems on purpose. I’ve gotten good at it over the years, knocking over glasses and making it look like an accident. It’s not a skill I like to boast about, and I rarely ever have to use it, but sometimes you deal with a diner who is so vile they deserve a stained lap.

The glass falls directly onto his chest, a bullseye. He shouts and stands up, looking at me like I’m the most reprehensible thing on the planet. Maybe I am, but I still feel higher than him.

“You stupid-” He scoffs and tries to wipe himself dry. “What the hell are you doing?”

“So sorry sir, I’ll clean up here if you want to go to the bathroom,” I point towards the back. “It was an accident.” I don’t make it a point to lie often, but the situation called for it.

He slammed down the napkin onto the table. “I’ll see your manager when I get back.”

I mock him behind his back then quickly turn and look at you. “Would you like to run away?”