Food for Thought
Lit Up: December’s prompt
Jacob shouldered his way through the kitchen doors and looked for somewhere to dump the plates from table eight. There were sixty-seven minutes left of his shift. Doing this mental arithmetic meant he was slow to notice the silence in the kitchen. Apparently, his colleagues had been talking about him and weren’t going to pretend otherwise.
Carl, the shift manager, with short blond hair and long red nose, cleared his throat.
“Say, Jake — “
“Name’s Jacob. If you’re going to ask a favor, you might want to remember that.”
“Sure, Jacob.” Carl adopted his most placating tones. “Is there any chance you can pick up the lunch shift tomorrow?”
That would be the Christmas lunch shift. The request was not unexpected, but it was late, so Jacob’s answer was gruff. “I’ll think about it. Table five needs ketchup.”
He headed into the store cupboard, careful not to let the door swing fully closed. No one in the kitchen worried about lowering their voice since Jacob had been cultivating the belief that he was partially deaf for a while now.
“Do you think he’ll take the shift?” That was the guy who cooked the eggs; he liked to be called Chef. Jacob obliged him because he’d never bothered to learn his name — the guy…
