Sera


    Monday night unfolds in a quaint Queens diner, the clock ticking past 7:00 p. m.


    “Come closer, baby doll,” the jerk taunts Kelly at a nearby table.


    A confrontation isn’t on my agenda, but witnessing him grab Kelly’s ass ignites my fury.


    Unapologetic, he smirks when caught. I march toward them, enraged.


    “What’s the matter, sugar?” he mocks, realizing he’s flustered her.


    “S-Sir, you can’t…”


    “I’m sorry-what was that?” he interrupts, reveling in her difort.


    I’ve had enough. The customer isn’t always right.


    Standing beside Kelly, I unleash my indignation. “Hey, prick. You can’t grope the waitresses. It’s not that kind of diner.”


    He sneers, giving me a disdainful look, contrasting with Kelly’s deer-in-the-headlights expression.


    Kelly, tall and neat, contrasts my short, curvy self. Tonight, she’s handled a challenging customer, enduring his inappropriatements with poise. Now, he’s crossed the line.


    “Out. Now,” I dere with calm authority.


    “What are you using me of?” he retorts.


    “Don’t y dumb. I saw you touch her,” I respond, unfazed.


    “I did no such thing,” he ims, feigning innocence.


    “Your hand just happened to be level with her backside and making a grabbing motion?”


    “Is it a crime to have my hand resting at my side?” he argues.


    “No, but it’s a crime to touch someone without their consent,” I assert, positioning myself protectively in front of Kelly.


    He challenges me, demanding to speak to the supervisor. Little does he know, as the most senior employee, I hold that position.


    I eagerly anticipate the look on his face when he realizes his ploy won’t work.


    I position my hands on the table, leaning in, and calmly state, “I am the supervisor. I must ask you to leave the premises.”


    Hoping a more condescending tone will convey my authority, I retaliate against his insolence. He questions my role, snapping at Kelly for confirmation.


    Kelly weakly nods, yet disbelief lingers in the man’s expression.


    Fed up, I decide to prove who’s in control. I backhand one of his beer bottles, spilling its contents across hisp. As he jolts back, I sweetly utter, “Oops.”


    His face reddens, attracting attention from other patrons. Backhanding more bottles, I repeat, “Oops,” less sweetly. The man protests, using me of intent.


    With satisfaction, I order him out, pointing to the door. Kelly mentions he hasn’t paid yet.


    I turn, take the slip from her, and he scoffs, climbing out of the booth. A beer stain on hisp adds to his humiliation. When he ims he won’t pay, I’m ready to retaliate, but Officer Marco, a regr NYPD customer, intervenes.


    “Is there a problem here, Sera?” Officer Marco inquires sternly.


    I swiftly inform him about the groping incident, and Mr. Suit attempts to exit without settling his bill. I ce the receipt on the table, urging him to pay. Reluctantly, he drops cash and leaves.


    Once he’s gone, I turn to Kelly, ensuring she’s okay. Officer Marco offers support, asking if she wants to press charges, but she declines.


    With relief, I hug Kelly, and Officer Marco returns to his meal. I grab a slice of apple pie, brightening his mood and acknowledging his assistance.


    I guide Kelly toward the back, signaling other waitresses to take our tables. The kitchen buzzes with activity, and Deacon, our lively head chef, notices us. I gesture for him to prepare something for Kelly, and he obliges.


    In Marie’s cramped makeshift office, I settle Kelly, assuring her to take all the time she needs. Despite her concern about the tables, I dismiss it, promising that Daphne and others can handle them.


    She expresses disbelief at people’s behavior, and I refrain frommenting, understanding her kind nature. Deacon brings in aforting chocteva cake with vani ice cream.


    “You’re my bestie. You know I’d kick anybody in the nuts for you,” I reassure her. Despite my years in waitressing, Kelly’s good-natured innocence still surprises me.


    Deacon’s thoughtful gesture of providing Kelly’s favorite treat lightens the mood. I encourage her to take deep breaths and enjoy the treat before heading back out.


    As Kelly eats, she asks about my uing “meeting.” I admit I have a few minutes, assuring her it’s not urgent. We discuss Mrs. Ashton, reminiscing about her, and I express how much I miss her.


    Kelly encourages me to go to the meeting, assuring me she’ll be fine. Despite her reassurance, the real reason I’m hesitant is the thought of seeing him again.Exclusive ? material by N?(/v)elDrama.Org.