To set the scene, Callie is waitressing and has her head focused on her audition in the morning. She hasn't been paying as good of attention as she should and her customer is very irate.
“Here we are,” I said brightly as I approached. “Your dessert and coffee.” I placed each cup in front of them before putting the dessert in the middle of the table. “Will there be anything else?”
“Yes,” my new favorite patron answered, in a tight, annoyed voice. “You forgot to light it.”
“Excuse me?” I asked, blinking at him.
“The topping? You’re supposed to flambé it?” He was speaking to me like I was the village idiot and before I’d come here, I would have cried. New York had toughened me, however, and I knew there was only one thing for me to do: refuse to let him get away with it.
“You’re right. Absolutely, Sir. Just a moment, please.” I walked away purposefully, with revenge in mind. When I got back to the table I was carrying a bottle of vodka and a lighter. Giving them a stunning smile, I splashed the top of the brûlée with the alcohol and set it aflame. Then, turning to Mr. Condescending, I clumsily dropped the bottle.
“Jesus!” He exclaimed loudly as Vodka dripped from his shirt all the way to his pants. It was a full bottle, and more than half had drenched his clothes before the bottle fell with a thud to the floor, creating a clear puddle on the wooden floor.
“Oh, my gosh, I am so sorry,” I said, feigning innocence. “Here, let me help.” I leaned forward, cloth in hand and ignited the blow torch. The flame shot toward him, licking his shirt which promptly caught fire. “Oh, no!” I cried, counting to five before patting it out.
I took a step back and I wasn’t sure if it was coming from his shirt, or if steam was literally coming out of his ears. “You…stupid…girl!” He said through gritted teeth. “I don’t want your apologies.” He spat each word at me threateningly. “I want you fired.”
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