“They told me to host tonight,” you say.
The waiter’s eyes light up. “Ah, good. Come with me. I’m Randy, by the way.” The dining room’s air is stagnant; and the canned music—a sort of eerie flute harmony that sets your teeth on edge—barely audible. The place has “atmosphere.” So does Venus. No customers. Well, one customer. Sort of. You grimace.
“Um, how often do I have to deal with something like that?” you ask. In a booth against the wall slumps an old woman, reeking of booze and piss. A wide belt of some sort is wrapped around her middle, and she clutches a battered banjo to her. Her snore is a raucous whistle. You’ll surely be tasked with throwing her out.
The waiter waves his hands. “No, no, no. That’s… Corrie. You never disturb her. She sleeps as long as she wants!” You await further explanation, then shrug.
“What’s she, the owner’s grandma or something?”
The waiter simultaneously nods and shrugs as if his neck is double-hinged. “Or something.” He leaves you to your host station and disappears into the back.
The dinner rush starts, and you begin seating the guests. Faster than you would have believed, the dark place fills up, although the lights remain dim, and the conversation among the diners is barely audible. You come back from sitting three rough-looking guys in Randy’s section when you find yourself confronted by a well-dressed man with an imperious air. He is trailed by a wife and a collection of pale children that favor him. All of them have hollow cheeks and bulging eyes. “I desire a table immediately.”
The only table left is also in Randy’s section. You know waiters hate being double-sat, but what choice have you? You sit them, and the man says, “We know what we want.” He looks impatient. You look around for Randy, but there’s not a waiter in sight. The rough-looking guys are craning their necks. They gesture at you, and they were here first.
Do you…?
Decide to play the waiter yourself
and serve the Family.
Decide to play the waiter yourself
and serve the rough-looking guys.
