Michael bangs a ladle against a pot in the kitchen, "All right, everyone, listen up, we're going to be staying open a little later tonight than usual."
A collective groan goes up from the staff of Yaws. "Man, I got a date," Manuel brays, putting a garnish on an order of conch meatloaf.
"Your right hand can wait up for you," Michael cackles, holding up his right hand.
"Ah, snap!" Ritchie yells, as he stirs and fries some stir-fry.
"All right, calm down. What's going on is that a sheik from Saudi Arabia's in town at The Healthy Hospital and he wants to bring his whole posse with him. There are like fifty of them, and they've been fasting. It's what do you call it? Ramalamadingdong . . .," Michael yammers and scratches his forehead.
"Ramadan," Rasheed the dishwasher chimes in, polishing a wine glass.
"Right," Michael cajoles, "And since they haven't eaten all day, they'll be very hungry. Waitstaff, this has happened before and every time they leave great tips. Kitchen, you get overtime."
"Whee, whee" Manuel cuckoos, spinning his right index finger in the air unenthusiastically.
"I hope they don't ask for some weird shit. Last time this happened they brought a goat and we had to kill it in the alley," Ritchie grumbles.
"Man, that did not happen. What happened is one of the little girls had a pet goat and we had to keep it in the alley because the health department would have flipped if it had been in the restaurant," Manuel trumpets.
"Well, you're both right," Michael coos, "But it was a misunderstanding and the sheik forgave us. He said the bleating always got on his nerves anyway. And that kid made for some very tasty curry."
"You ate the little girl and her goat?" Manuel asks, "What the fuck kind of place am I working in?"
"A kid is a young goat," Ritchie bleats.
"Oh, well, that's a relief cause I ain't cooking no little Islamic girl," Manuel mutters.
"I don't like it that the women have to wear veils," Francine hisses, "We should tell them that we won't serve them unless the women can dress how they like."
"Maybe the women like dressing that way," Manuel tsks, getting out the pots he just put away a few minutes ago.
"Well, Francine, put aside your feelings for the evening because the only thing you'll be telling the sheik's party are today's specials," Michael twitters, "So are we ready?"
"We ready, boss. What's another hundred plates to me, Superdishwasher?!" Rasheed booms, putting his dishcloth around his neck like a cape and sticking his arms out like Superman flying.
"That's the spirit, Rasheed!" Michael lilts, clapping his hands, "All right, let's make some food and make some money!"
"Just don't charge interest. They don't believe in that. That's usury. That's why we're always fighting with them overseas. Cause we're greedy. Just like staying open late tonight," Manuel grunts, as the staff disperses.
Michael walks up, "Are we going to have a problem?"
"Oh, no, sir," Manuel whoops, "But I want you to know that my date is not with my hand, and I need to call her."
"Go ahead, Manuel," Michael sighs.
"Michael?"
"Yes, Ritchie."
"Can someone else kill the goat this time?"
Blog Love Omega Glee is a novel by Wred Fright about two bloggers who fall in love while the world falls apart, which is being serialized on his blog. To start reading from the beginning or read another installment, please visit Blog Love Omega Glee Central on WredFright.Com. If you like what you've read, or you've read all of Blog Love Omega Glee and want more Fright, then please read his first novel, which is available in print and as an ebook.
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