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Weekly Contest #370
In the weeds I round the corner into the dish pit; the clatter of plates being dropped off by rushing hands echoing through the too-small space. I glance at the clock -7:48- as I drop the heavy cutlery rack, chock-full from the latest turn of tables. “Darren, can you put this through for me ASAP? I need dessert spoons like ten minutes ago,” I say it as politely as I can, hoping that maybe, just maybe, he’ll put a little more hustle into his dishwashing. The reek of weed coming off him isn’t exactly a good indication that I’ll be seeing thos...
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