Accidental God 2.0 -- Section 06

[Thanks to everyone who gives feedback. This book feels very new for me, so the encouragement is very appreciated.

    Bradley stepped out of the kitchen and leaned his head against the little wall that hid him from the diners. His feet hurt. They shouldn't, since he'd been walking on them every night for the endless eternity of cleaning tables and washing dishes. In fact, he was usually on his feet for longer than he had been that night, but his feet hurt twice as badly. He couldn't figure it out.
    "Sore feet?" asked Denise, stopping next to him.
    Bradley rolled his head sideways on the wall to look at her. "How did you know?"
    "Happened to me, too, first night I started waiting tables. I think it's the stress. Gets to you, makes your body tense. Been rough?"
    "Have you been watching me?"
    Denise was smiling. "Off and on. I wondered what was going on at table ten."
    "Chicken nuggets," said Bradley.
    "The kid wanted chicken nuggets?"
    "No, the kid wanted Khao Pad Namprik Pao Sai Kai. It was the dad who wanted chicken nuggets."
    "Look at you!" said Denise, smiling even more. "Rattling off that name like you grew up shorter and more Thai."
    Bradley stood up straight and rolled his shoulders and head, trying to get out some of the tension. "I've washed enough of it off plates, I ought to be able to pronounce it by now."
    "Fine. Don't accept a compliment. You've got a new customer."
    "Hey, Denise, I didn't mean it that way."
    "I get it," she said, starting to walk away. "Sore feet."
    "Yeah," he called after her. Sore feet. That was probably it. Also, speaking without thinking. The menu came easy to him, but he remembered Denise talking about it. Took her months to get it right. Stupid, acting like it was nothing special. Stupid.
    But Denise was also right about the customer. Sitting at twelve, alone, a small lady with a fluffed up coat on, like she was puffer fish, trying to look bigger than she was. She looked intelligent, which was promising. At the very least, if she were rude to him, she might do it in a clever way. She didn't look like the rude type, though. Not that Bradley had enough experience to be certain there really was a 'rude type,' but if there were, she didn't look it. She looked stressed. Flushed, too. Jogging on your way to eat dinner? Oh, please don't let her be sick. He did not need that. Table eleven had been filled with an entire pack of teenagers, apparently raised by wolves, without the benefit of either elbows or handkerchiefs. Sniffles and coughing out into the air. He was probably doomed to a weekend inside, shivering under his duvet, and a weekend being sick was a weekend not being paid.
    But, sick or not, the lady needed water. He grabbed the necessaries from off the serving counter and headed over.
    "Hi, I'm Bradley, and I'm the guy who will be explaining the mysteries of our menu tonight. Can I start you off with something to drink?"
    She blinked at him, not seeming to comprehend.
    "Drink?"
    "Yes," said Bradley. "Juice, fountain drinks, beer, wine?"
    She shook her head. "No thanks. This water is fine. Empty stomach. Anything alcoholic would make me pass out on your table."
    "No problem," said Bradley, mentally adjusting down the value of his tip. That was okay. He'd had some decent tippers already. If the rest of his tables commented on his hair instead of giving money, he'd still be coming out ahead of his nights washing dishes. "Would you like me to give you a minute to look at the menu?"
    The woman was looking down at it, but her eyes seemed to be having a hard time focussing. Should he say something?
    "I can't read it," she said finally, throwing it onto the table. "What do you recommend?"
    "That depends. Are you in the mood for something simple and filling, or more complex? Do you like mild or hot? Meat or vegetarian?"
    She held up her hands. "Too many choices. Just a second." She thought. "Don't care about complex, either way works. Hot is good, and the only people I know who are vegetarians never had to deal with chickens."
    "Have you had to deal with chickens?" asked Bradley.
    "Oh yes. So what do you recommend?"
    "I really enjoy the--"
    "Hang on. One more thing. No peanuts. I'm allergic."
    Bradley mentally switched gears, running through the menu in his head. "In that case I recommend the Kuaytiao Lad na."
    "Sounds exotic."
    "It all sounds exotic," said Bradley, bobbing his eyebrows.
    The woman laughed. It sounded slightly brittle, but genuine. Bradley smiled along.
    "That was funny."
    "Thank you."
    "So tell me what that exotic sounding dish actually is."
    "Noodles, broccoli, and chicken. Pretty much."
    "No peanuts?"
    "None, and I'll make sure to tell the chef."
    "Perfect. You're a saint," she looked up at his name tag, "Bradley. Definitely a saint."
    "Oh, I'm much more than that," he said. "I'm a minor deity at least."
    The woman looked at him sharply, then burst into laughter again. Bradley wasn't sure his joke was worth all that, but he smiled anyway. Was that the right response? The more he looked at her, the more on edge she seemed. Her eyes were red, and her cheeks had faint tracks on them, like she'd been crying.
    "You're shaking," he said, surprised that he said it out loud. Might as well go all the way. "Are you all right?"
    She stopped laughing, her face very serious. "I just need food, Bradley. I'll feel much better. Any way to hurry it along? I can tip extra."
    Bradley was shaking his head. "No, ma'am, that's not necessary. Especially since I can't be sure I can deliver. Our chef is a bit like Old Faithful."
    "Reliable, is he?"
    "Actually, Old Faithful isn't as consistent as people think it is. All depends on how long the last explosion was, but one thing is always certain: it's not comfortable to stand too close."
    "He blows up sometimes?"
    "Sometimes. Why am I telling you this?"
    "I don't know, but I find it very amusing. Of course, that may be due to fatigue."
    "Right. I'll get your order in. Chicken, noodles, veggies, all of it spicy?"
    "Perfect."
    "How spicy?"
    "What are my options?"
    "Anything from 'forgotten memory of a peppercorn,' to 'melt your eyes' spicy."
    "Hmm. Give me a runny nose."
    "Nasal drainage spicy it is."
    She wrinkled her nose."
    "I guess I won't ever use that phrase with a customer again," said Bradley.
    "First night waiting tables?"
    Bradley put his finger on his nose.
    "I won't hold it against you," she said. "Just get him to hurry."
    "I'll see what I can do."
    He left her, glancing back to see her huddled into her coat. She looked exhausted and energized, both at the same time. It was strange. Attractive, and they were about the same age, but still strange. Also, the height difference would definitely be an issue. They'd have to end any dates close to a stepladder.
    Also, what was he even thinking? Why had he spent the whole night noticing if female customers were single or not? Was he that desperate for company? Yeah, he probably was.
    Time to talk to the chef. It hadn't been so bad tonight. The chef was at the ideal level of fatigue, not tired enough to be disastrously temperamental, but fatigued enough to seem mellow. He'd probably been up too late playing online. He'd overheard the guy talking about it a time or two. Or twenty. Who knew there could be so much drama over who got to walk away with a particular piece of digital armor? It was like junior high all over again, but with a lot more acronyms. He still had to go look up what, exactly, 'DPS' stood for.
    Bradley slipped through the doors into the kitchen, walking over into shouting range with the chef.
    "What's up, skinny?" asked the round man. Once again, Bradley was astounded by the man's creativity. He was tempted to call the chef 'fats' in return, but no, he wasn't that stupid.
    "I've got an F-three on order, but it needs a little extra care."
    "You want extra care? I was up half the night raiding. Finally got my tier-ten shoulder piece, thank you very much. I'm too tired to do special care."
    "Hey, I understand, but it's pretty important. The lady has a peanut allergy."
    "Oh, right," said the chef. "Sorry. I get it. I'll be careful. F-three, careful on  the peanuts."
    "Perfect. Thanks, chef. She's also very hungry so," the chef glared, "so I'll take her some bread. Absolutely. No need to bother you. I'm out."
    And Bradley backed away, not making eye contact. He'd read somewhere that eye contact provokes male gorillas, and since he'd noticed some similarities in intelligence between mountain gorillas and the chef, he was trying to apply the lessons he'd gleaned from the nature channel. So far it was having some positive effects. No eye contact. Back away.
    He still thought it was weird that they served bread as an appetizer at a Thai restaurant. It didn't seem right, but at least it gave him something to bring the woman. He filled two glasses on the way, smiled, asked an older couple if everything were delicious--either it was, or they were too polite to say otherwise--and then he was back at table twelve with the woman in the coat.
    "Here's some bread."
    She cocked an eyebrow. "At a Thai restaurant?"
    Bradley shrugged. "Don't ask me. I've always thought it was weird, too. But it's good bread. Sometimes I snack on it in the back. That's why you only have three pieces. The baskets usually have four."
    She looked at him closely.
    "You're messing with me."
    "I am."
    She laughed again while Bradley smiled.
    "Deadpan humor, I see. A little refreshing. My husband is like that. Sorry. Was." Her smile vanished.
    Bradley rubbed his hand over his mouth. Uh-oh. "I'm sorry. He passed away?" She nodded, and Bradley didn't know whether he should be glad he'd guessed right. "Recently?"
    "Recently enough," she said, reaching for a pieces of bread and tearing it in half. "I'm sorry. I don't usually inflict this on others, but it's fresh in my mind tonight. Things keep reminding me of him recently. Like your humor. He'd always joke but never laugh. Just smile. Are you a laugher, Bradley?"
    "Not much of one. The world is an amusing place, but not really a funny one."
    "That's the kind of thing Gerald would say." She shook her head. "Again, sorry for inflicting this on you. I should eat something. Make myself shut up."
    "Nothing to worry about, ma'am. You come here to enjoy good food and be comfortable. So be comfortable. I'll just bring you the food."
    "And the jokes?"
    "Only bad jokes. For the really funny stuff, you have to get Denise."
    "Which is Denise?"
    "That server right over there."
    The woman turned in her seat to look. "She looks pretty serious."
    "Oh no. She's like a barrel full of monkeys. Non-stop yucks."
    "Monkeys?"
    "Monkeys."
    "Also, you just said 'yucks.'"
    "Yes, I did."
    She was smiling again. "I think I'll stick with you as my server, Bradley. I've been through much worse things today than a few bad jokes. I think I can handle anything you throw at me."
    "Except peanuts."
    She shook her head. "That one wasn't funny."
    "Should I keep trying?"
    "Sure. Keep trying."
    "I need to go check on my other tables. Wave at me if you need anything, okay?"
    She nodded.
    "I really mean it. Not in a romantic sense. I'm not trying to come on to you. It's just that you look pretty strung out, and I know what it's like to be tired and have a bad day, so I wanted you to know that I can call you a cab, or whatever. Get you mango with sticky rice. It's good."
    "You recommend the mango?"
    "With sticky rice. Yes. In fact, you could just skip dinner and go straight to desert. The syrup they put on the rice is to die for."
    "You mean it has peanuts in it?"
    "I could check--oh. Joke. Actually that was quite clever."
    She smiled. "Thank you. And I'll stick with the Kuay-whatever. I need real food in my stomach before I try anything else."
    "Absolutely. I'll go see how it's coming."
    "Thank you, Bradley."