Bullies Spit On A Waitress — Unaware She Was A Commander For 10 Years!
Chapter 3
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Tyler had grown up watching that. He'd learned the lesson well. Not the good version of it; the other one.Claire walked over to their table without being asked. That was something she did: she watched the room. She knew when people sat down, and she moved before they had to wait."Evening," she said. "What can I get you?"Tyler looked her up and down the way a person looks at something they've already decided isn't important. "Coffee," he said. "And a menu. Take your time." He said the last part with a smile that wasn't really a smile.Claire brought the menus without comment. She set them down, took out her order pad, and waited.What followed next was the kind of thing that feels small in the moment:Tyler kept changing his order: asked for something, then said he'd changed his mind, then asked for the first thing again. He interrupted Claire twice while she was writing. He snapped his fingers at her once—not because he needed anything, just because he wanted to see if she would react.She didn't react. She just wrote down the order and moved on.Brody asked if the coffee was fresh."Just made," Claire said."Doesn't look fresh," he said."I can make a new pot.""Never mind," he said. "Just bring it."Finn didn't order anything. Colt ordered a piece of pie, and then when Claire brought it, told her it was the wrong kind."You said apple," Claire said."I said cherry," Colt said. He hadn't said cherry; everyone in the diner knew he hadn't said cherry.Claire picked up the plate. "I'll get you cherry."She walked back to the counter without any change in her expression. Donna caught her eye. Claire gave the smallest shake of her head: Don't. Donna understood; she turned back to the register.This was the part that was hardest to watch. Not because what they were doing was so terrible—not yet—but because of what it was designed to do. It wasn't about the coffee or the pie; it was about watching someone absorb it. Watching someone take the small indignities, say nothing, and keep working. It was about power—small, casual, thoughtless power, the kind that doesn't even bother to hide itself.Claire brought the cherry pie, set it down."Thank you, sweetheart," Colt said in a voice that wasn't thanking her.She turned to go."Hey." Tyler's voice.She stopped, turned back. He was holding up his coffee mug. "This is cold."It wasn't cold; he'd been holding it for four minutes."I'll warm it up," she said.