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A customer waved her over with an apologetic frown- a gray-haired woman, with a kind face. Rosie flashed a bubbly smile and a ‘wait a moment’ gesture- she was still pouring her current table’s lemonade refill. “Anything else?” she asked.
The customer shook his head with a quick, polite crinkle of the eyes. Rosie nodded and went to the customer who’d flagged her down, moving with ostentatious sorry-to-keep-you-waiting hurry.
The woman pointed to her meal- a grilled chicken sandwich. “I’m so sorry to be one of those patrons, ma’am, but… this isn’t quite cooked through.”
There was no question of her being ‘one of those patrons’, the chicken patty was obviously pink inside and a food poisoning hazard. “I am so sorry about that,” said Rosie, picking up the plate. “I’ll bring you a new one right away.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
Rosie carried the pitcher and the plate back into the kitchen through the swinging employees-only door. Rob was busily shaking a basket of French fries. “Rob,” she said, setting down the pitcher. “My customer had raw chicken.”
“What? Aw, geez. Two patties must’ve gotten on top of each other or something. I’ll redo it.”
She nodded and carried the plate over to the other employees-only door, the one that was triple padlocked. She undid the locks in quick succession.
“Hey, little guy,” she cooed. A deep groan rattled the walls, and a stench of decay wafted up. Rosie frowned. “Rob! Has anyone fed him at all today?”
“I gave him a whole half a cow when I got in! He’s just begging. Have you never had a cat?”
Rosie rolled her eyes and flipped the plate, tossing the pink chicken sandwich into the darkness. “There you go, good boy!” she said, before shutting the door and re-locking each lock.