Looks like it’s going to be a busy shift tonight. Ah perfect, a table with a screaming child, and an old couple who look like they might have died last week. People underestimate how hard it is to work in a restaurant serving absolute morons who think they know it all. Especially the really stupid ones that pronounce ‘merlot’ ‘mur-lot’. Speaking of the really stupid, there’s a table of three very likely looking prospects over there. I suppose it’s time to get started, I’ll see if they want any more drinks.
“Good evening ladies my name’s Peter. Can I get you any anything?”
“Oh! Finally, we have been waiting for about twenty minutes! This really isn’t on, its Sarah’s birthday and… “
Perfect, I love it when they’re rude. If I ever start to feel guilty that will definitely make me feel a lot better. Jesus, is she still talking?
“Madam, I can only apologise, now that I am here I will do everything in my power to make sure that you ladies have the most special night possible! And Sarah, happy birthday, you look wonderful tonight! I will bring over a complimentary glass of prosecco for you, and I’ll go and see if we have any chocolate truffles in the back!”
Silly bitches, I think on some level people are asking for it. I’ll put two of these magic little pills in their drinks, it is her birthday celebration after all. And a couple of raspberries to mask the taste and distract those dimwits, perfect. It is quite challenging though, trying to get the dosage right to coincide with the end of my shift, especially with the chubby ones, but I’ve pretty much mastered it now. At the start I was definitely a bit rusty, got my first few restaurants shut down as people thought it was the food trying to kill them off. I’ve absolutely perfected my method now though, the most important thing is to have no records of me anywhere; get paid cash at work, don’t befriend the pathetic losers I have to work with and pay cash for my flat.
Although, once I’m dead obviously they will need a record, I’ve started writing my autobiography, for several reasons. People, obviously, will be interested in my story, the police will need help as they are so incapable, and I think it’s important that the facts are correct. There can be no confusion or speculation about my work. England has needed someone like me for decades, we have so few real masters of the art and it’s such a shame. I want to be a beacon of hope for anyone like me in the future, to show what can be achieved with determination and hard work. Obviously there’s a lot of natural skill involved too, but I’m not narcissistic so I know I am not the only person to be born with skill, although we are a dying breed I fear.
Here comes my manager, with her little degree in events management which she treats as if it were a PhD from Cambridge, she’s going to ask how my mother is; I had to pretend she had cancer because people thought I was being strange at work for no reason. Actually, the old hag’s been dead for years, but people don’t treat you the way you really deserve unless they think some tragedy has happened to you. She’s laying it on thick tonight, she’s about to ask me to do something unpleasant. And there it is, she wants me to take the table with that dribbling little brat on it. My absolute pleasure, time to teach that little parasite a lesson. Better pretend I’m not happy about it though, might be able to get something out of it.
Those girls look like they’re getting a bit drunk, I think I’ll have to swap the champagne for the non- alcoholic stuff. I don’t want them getting too drunk and going home or that will ruin all my fun. I much prefer it when they manage to stay awake for the duration. Now I need to go over and charm them enough that one will come home with me, shouldn’t be too hard, what they’re wearing suggests they’re no strangers to spending the night at strange men’s houses.
“Ladies! I’ve bought you over some more prosecco, but don’t tell my manager. I just think it’s a crime for women as beautiful as you to be without an expensive drink in their hands!”
Now, should I flatter the fat one and hope she comes back with me? I don’t think that will be believable though, I mean, someone who looks like me going for someone who looks like that. Yes it will be much more believable if I work the most attractive one, and it’s her birthday so I expect she’ll be feeling extra loose tonight.
“We didn’t order this, sorry!”
“Oh, I know, it’s just a little birthday gift from me! I think I’ve seen you ladies in here before? And I must admit I’d been rather hoping I would get an excuse to come over and introduce myself as more than just a waiter.”
Lap it up, you dumb bitch.
“Well, why would you want to do that?”
“Quite frankly, you’re the most beautiful woman I think I’ve ever seen in here.”
Would kissing her hand be too much? Or has she watched enough romantic comedies that she’d absolutely love it? She definitely looks like a sad sack that’s spent a lot of nights crying over ice cream watching that sort of crap. Ah yes, she’s loving it.
“I was wondering what you were doing later this evening? I hope I’m not being too forward, but I was just wondering if you would like to join me for a night cap?” I say, and she blushes.
They make it too easy for me.