He reached out for the knife below the counter. His patience had reached its pinnacle.
A while ago, when things were just as normal as they could be at a fast food outlet, a gentleman had stepped into the franchise. A greeting and welcome later, the waiter asked the gentleman for his order. What he received in return was nothing like it. The gentleman continued his gibberish, now with a raised tone. The waiter could make no sense of it, but tried hard to hide his annoyance and listen patiently. It wasn’t long before he stopped paying attention for universally recognized words like ‘chicken’, ‘salad’, ‘money’ or even ‘extra’. He animatedly tried to relate the dishes shown on the menu displayed overhead to those that were being prepared in the kitchen just behind the counter. But to no avail. The gentleman hurled what must be abuses at him. The waiter’s mind was running through his native slang simultaneously.
After a short pause, the gentleman spoke in crisp English, “Just one of my routine checks to test the courtesy of my staff. Congratulations! I, the owner, deem you ethically fit to work here.”
The waiter’s trembling right hand stretched out to meet the owner’s extended one. While the other sweaty hand went just beyond the knife and grabbed the serviette instead.
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