“Umm, excuse me?” Teresa raised her hand as the waiter walked past. He didn’t stop. She slumped back in the booth, annoyed.
Another waitress, her apron smeared with what looked like baby food, was heading toward the kitchen, and Teresa’s arm reached out and grabbed the edge of soiled black cloth before the waitress passed.
“Yes?” the waitress asked.
“Can I have some more porridge, please?”
“Sure, I can get another order for you.”
“Is there a charge for it?”
“Yes ma’am, it would be a whole other order.”
“Don’t you guys do, like, free refills?”
“On sodas, ma’am.”
“Oh, okay. Umm, never mind then.” Teresa let go of the apron, and the waiter disappeared into the kitchen. With the restaurant clear, for a moment, of staff, she stood and walked quickly to the exit before they could demand money.
The waitress returned with a bowl, compliments of the chef. The woman at the next table shook her head sadly, and received a free refill of porridge for her help.