It was like a dream. Over the sound of music in the restaurant one could hear a snapping, a pop, and then … nothing. The music had ceased. I had accidentally spilled malt vinegar into the sound amplifier for the restaurant and fatally wounded it. The faint smell of smoke billowed up from the top vents – the same slits that had been the recipients of the liquid spear. Pam and Brett, the only other servers working the lunch shift with me, tried to resuscitate the device to no avail.

We called Jane over, the manager on duty, and Pam, who explained what had happened while I handled my tables. Jane tried to get the machine to work, but also in vain. The more time passed, the more the eerie silence inverted and became deafening. A fork dropped across the restaurant. The front door made a distinctive swish as it opened. My shoes squeaked, something I had never noticed.
The shift had to go on, so we carried on as usual, as Jane made phone calls to Christina, the general manager, and a couple of the owners. Before my shift was done, everyone knew, and I took the blame for it.
That evening, we had a front of the house meeting – all hosts, servers and managers were there, as well as “Joel,” one of the owners. We had them about once a month, to go over restaurant notes and general protocol. The meetings always reminded me of councils of war – with the generals standings towards the front, and all of the soldiers sitting at a large round table looking somber and despondent.
After the meeting, Christina and Joel asked me to come upstairs. Closing the door behind me, I sat across from Joel at his desk with Christina standing to the side. All that was missing was the spotlight and the one-way mirror.

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