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Classic.
    I frown at them.
    â€œWhat are you frowning about?” Wilf asks.
    â€œIt’s July. These are Valentine’s place mats.”
    â€œThis ain’t the Ritz, Chickadee,” Wilf says.
    â€œSome of them are wrinkly and torn.” I hold them up to show him.
    â€œThey’re clean. Suck it up,” he says.
    I swallow a retort. I wasn’t brought up to get snarky with old men. Of course, I wasn’t brought up to do a lot of the things I’ve been doing lately.
    â€œBe nice,” Stella says to him. “This is her first day. She’s never been in a place like this before. I don’t think you have much choice, being here? Punishment for your sins?” she asks.
    I bite my lip harder and feel their judgment. The poor little rich girl.
    The old guy stares at me. “She looks too young and fancy to get into trouble. What were your sins?” he asks.
    I straighten my shoulders and stand taller. No way I’m going to tell this guy I got drunk, bought a ten-thousand-dollar dress, and flashed my boobs. “What are yours?” I ask instead.
    Stella chuckles. “I’ll leave you two to work this out. Wilf, introduce her to Sunny. She’ll show you the ropes,” she adds for me. She shows me a long enough rope and I might try to hang myself with it.
    â€œNot worth it, Mess,” the old guy says as if he read my mind. He winks.
    â€œJess,” I tell him.
    â€œThat’s what I said.” He points at his ear and smiles a crooked old-man smile and starts to whistle. “Go on then. Start putting out those fancy place mats.”
    Stella laughs and turns and flows back to the kitchen. For a big woman, she moves with lightness and grace.
    Wilf and I work silently, putting down place mats, and then he grunts out instructions for setting out the plates and glasses. We set those out, and when we’re done, a tall black girl walks through the kitchen into the dining room. She’s not too much older than me, and she’s skinny. She actually makes me look big.
    She’s holding a bin. “Damn plastic stuff,” she mumbles. She walks by, and I peer inside the bin and see rows of plastic cutlery wrapped in napkins and tied with ribbons. “You must be Jess?”
    I nod.
    â€œSunny,” she says. “You ever served before?”
    I shake my head. “Not really. No.”
    She looks me up and down. My pants are expensive and my top is designer. I definitely don’t shop at Target for clothes. “Yeah. You’ve never needed a part-time job, I’m guessing.”
    I stand straighter and lift my chin. “I’m here and I’m working. So. Yeah. I guess I do.”
    â€œNot the paid kind though.”
    I don’t have a ready argument, and Sunny mumbles something under her breath. I don’t hear her and decide it’s for the best. We obviously have an understanding. We don’t like each other.
    â€œYou want us to put out this plastic cutlery?” Wilf interrupts.
    â€œWe have to use it sometime. Did you explain to her how this works?” She nods her head to me, as if she can’t be bothered to remember or say my name out loud.
    â€œI did. Why? Are you mad because I’m stepping on your toes?” Wilf asks.
    â€œMy feet are bigger than yours, Wilf. Worry about your own toes,” she tells him.
    â€œI’m too much of a gentleman to point out your flaws,” he says. “Big feet being only one of them.”
    I decide then that I might like the old guy better than I thought. Wilf and Sunny argue for a moment, and I look around, swallow, and take deep breaths.
    â€œI have a million pages of paperwork to catch up on,” Sunny finally says and glances at the clock on the wall and then back at me. “Please try to get up to speed quickly.”
    I want to point out that, in theory, I’m a volunteer. No one even seems to want me here. Not even me.
    â€œDon’t