Holding Jobs

“Dorothy, you’re fired,” Ted said.

“What? Why?” Dorothy set her serving tray down at the order station, furrowing her brow.

“Because frankly, Dorothy, you’re not good at this job.”

“Give me one good reason why I’m bad.”

“Well, you just took put in an order for three hamburgers and a filet mignon for the table over there.”

“So?”

“That’s the vegetarian society. They eat here once a month.”

“Oh.”

“We’ve had eight complaints of serving alcohol to minors, five of which were children under ten – ”

“Okay, they need an early introduction so they don’t binge drink in their teens!”

“…And yesterday you set fire to a man’s toupee.”

“How was I supposed to know he would get that close to the flambé?”

“He ordered a salad, Dorothy!”

“…Really?”

“Really. So, I’m sorry, but we have to let you go.”

Dorothy pursed her lips, then started untying the apron. “Okay, thanks for the opportunity.”

“Although you know, we could keep you on, if…”

She looked up hopefully. “I’ll do anything, take any course you need me to!”

“Well, what are you, uh, doing later?” Ted leaned against the table provocatively.

“No. No thank you. I may need a job, but I’m not that desperate, you creep.”

“Fine, then you’re fired. Goodbye, Dorothy.”

“Goodbye, Ted, see you in court.”

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