harmony/conflict

I go into my usual intro of “Good Evening, How are you doing tonight?”
The customer usually reply with a “Good how are you?”
Then I continue “Good, thank you! My name is Jeni; I’ll be taking care of you. Can I start you of with something to drink?”
This is my usual routine Tuesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday and Sunday nights. I jot down their drink orders, go to the service station in the back fill a plastic tumbler usually with Diet Coke, and balance a round tray on my hand as I stroll to the table. Then I scribble down their sandwich, burger, rib orders and make my way to the alohas. I swipe my card, put in their orders and go to the kitchen. My manager is standing at the expo line putting together orders. A food runner taps his foot as he waits for a meal to carry out to the proper table. I look around for side work to do in my free time like running plates, or rolling silverware. By the time I do this my food is already at the table and the couple enjoys there dinner. When they finish I take their plates and bring them the check. They slide in a credit card and I grab it; run it through. They put on their jacket head to the door, as the bus girl is cleaning of the table. Six easy dollars in my pocket.

The host pulls out the chairs and opens up their menus. They sit at table 54 and flip through the pages. I walk up to them ready to deliver my usual greeting. Before I can even say hello, she demands a fresh cup of decaf coffee, and water with no ice and lemon. I go to the back, pour her a cup of coffee after asking my fellow servers if it was freshly made and head back to the table with goods. I ask if they are ready to order and she proceeds to go on a five minute rant about her Cobb salad. She only wants romaine lettuce, no olives, no blue cheese; add onions, chopped, mixed with blackened chicken and balsamic vinaigrette on the side. She can tell I was not happy by the fearful expression in my face, as she tells me to make sure the kitchen gets the ticket right. As she is hassling me, the host seats me with two parties of five. I rush over to the Aloha put in her order, and go to the other two tables. As I am getting their drinks ready I notice her salad should be done, but it is not. I ask the kitchen to check on it and they tell me they could not figure out the ticket. As I try to explain what she wanted, the tray of drinks wobbles and slips out of my hands. I am soaked in sticky coca-cola products and embarrassment. I go to remake all the drinks and clean myself of; finally I bring the drinks to my angry tables that are ready to order. As I begin to take their order the lady at 54 is glaring at me, trying to telepathically drill into my head I am a bad waitress. I go check on her salad, it had been ready but there is no food runner. I run out the salad, she says its not right wants to leave and tells me I am incompetent. I take her coffee dump it on her lap, and slap her. I wake up soaked not in coca-cola but in sweat, thank God this was just a dream.