Cassie, Cassandra

CASSIE, CASSANDRA

“So, uh...” Jake paused, searching the papers on his desk, “Cassie, I see that you’ve been hired as a server.”

Cassie smiled “Yes, I have.”

“And, uh,” he scanned the paper again, “you’re scheduled to start today.”

That smile again. “That’s right.”

Without looking up at her, Jake continued to read her resume. “It says here that you have worked at different restaurants—take-out to fine dining.” He looked up. “So, you should have no problem fitting in here at The Bistro.”

“I don’t foreseen any problems,” said Cassie, still smiling.

He folded his hands on his desk and looked up at Cassie for the first time. “So, maybe I should set out our expectations here,” he said. “First, you’re low man on the totem pole, so you get the crappy shifts—closing, split shifts, and you’ll get cut first if we’re not busy. Unless one of the more senior staff want to go home, then you’ll have to take the rest of their shift.”

“What if that puts me over eight hours? Do I get paid overtime or is it lieu time?”

Jake emitted a humourless laugh. “Overtime!” He shook his head. “There ain’t no overtime here, girlie. You get paid what you were scheduled for, nothing more. Any extra hours you work are between you and me, and I determine how and when you are compensated.”

“But—”

He cut her off.  “You want this job?”

Cassie nodded.

“Then you listen to me. I’m the manager here, and what I say goes.”

Cassie’s smiled dimmed a bit. She nodded.

“Secondly, you need a uniform. We wear black plants with white shirts, and long black aprons over top, tied at the waist.” 

Cassie knew the dress code, so she had dressed appropriately.

“You can buy them from me,” said Jake.

Now Cassie was confused. “Uh, Ursula told me about the uniform. I’m wearing black pants and a white shirt. She said that you would provide the apron.”

Jake looked at her, scratching his chin. “We like our servers to be a little more … put together. Your shirt and pants are baggy. They look sloppy.”

Cassie looked at her clothes. Although made of a polyester blend—easier to wash and wear—her black pants were tailored and well cut. They would be more than appropriate for a server. And her white shirt was a man’s cut with a button collar and French cuffs, Egyptian cotton. Perhaps a bit too fancy for restaurant work, but the shirt fit well, and looked good on her.

“I don’t understand what you mean,” she said, looking at Jake.  

“We want the customers to appreciate our servers’ physical attributes.” He turned behind him and pulled out a cheap polyester shirt with a plunging v-neck, and fake buttons down the front. He compared Cassie to the shirt, and threw it to her. “This should do. It’s fifty bucks. You’re pants are fine for now. You’ll have to wait until I get another order in.” He turned around again, and pulled out a black apron, and again threw it to her. “The apron's sixty bucks. If you buy two, then it’s only a hundred. You save ten bucks and don’t have to do laundry as much. You pay me, cash.” 

Cassie was stunned. “Ursula said that I could wear my own clothes, and that you would supply the apron.”

Jake snorted. “Did she said that the apron was free?”

“No, but—”

“I already told you, I’m the manager and what I say goes. If you have a problem with this, then maybe you should start looking for another job."

Cassie said nothing.

He looked at her feet. She was wearing very practical and comfortable black Blundstones. 

“Those boots will not do. We prefer our female servers to wear a heel.” He paused and looked at her. His smile was predatory. “It adds to the ‘look’ we’re going for.” He made air quotes around the word “look.”

Cassie was gobsmacked. She had never met a manager who was so … so … so inappropriate. So completely and blatantly inappropriate.

“Okay, let’s get you on the floor. The meals ain’t gonna serve themselves.” He rose to leave the office. “And change that shirt. I’ll get the money from you after shift.”

He walked out of the office, and pointed down the hall. 

Cassie followed his hand gesture, found the women’s room, and changed the shirt Jake had given her. She carefully rolled her own white shirt, putting it in her purse.

She examined herself in the mirror. She judged the shirt to be at least two sizes too small, and made of lycra, so it was stretched to tight, making her feel uncomfortable. The cleavage was very low, the v-neck plunging to expose the middle part of her bra. She yanked the front of the shirt up, hiding the peek-a-boo of her bra.

Good thing I wore a white bra today, she thought while looking at herself in the mirror, disgusted by the blatant sexualization of this job. But, she had try. She’d promised herself. She had a job to do.

Knock! Knock! Knock!

“Get a move on Callie! We haven’t got all day while you fuss and primp.”

She walked to the door and pulled it open.

“I’m ready. And my name is Cassie.”

Jake shook his head. “Cassie, Callie, they’re almost the same thing.” He turned on his heel and walked away, leaving Cassie running after him, trying to tie her apron on as she hustled into the dining room.

“Shawna is out tonight, so you’re gonna have to work alone.” He pointed at the only other server on the floor. “Jon will show you where things are.”

Cassie was shocked. “Ursula said that there would be three days of training.”

Jake turned to look at her. “Ursula ain’t here, is she?”  

Cassie didn’t answer. She knew a rhetorical question when she heard one.  

Jake chuckled. “Think of this as ‘trial by fire.’ Besides a smart girl like you should be able to figure it out. After all, you’ve got all that experience.” He squinted. “Unless you were lying about that.”

Cassie shook her head. “No. I’m good.”

With that Jake turned on his heel and sauntered over to the bar, where Cassie watched as he poured himself a coffee and added what looked like a hearty shot of top-shelf cognac.  Cassie was stunned. Every manager that she knew who drank on the job at least had the wherewithal to keep a bottle in their office, not help themselves in front of the staff and guests.

The man Jake had identified as Jon came over and introduced himself. When Cassie expressed concern about being thrown into the deep end, Jon commiserated.

“You know, Jake knows that Shawna’s not coming back. She quit last week.” He looked at her. “She was tired of the ‘hands on’ approach Jake has with the female wait staff.”

Callie was horrified. “So, she quit?”

“Yup. She was only here for about a month.”

“Should I be concerned?”

Jon shrugged. “Not unless you let him get away with that shit. Shawna wouldn’t speak up for herself—she was too young. I encouraged her to find another job.” He changed topics. “I see Jake sold you one of his tops. He makes all the women wear them. You should see the pants—they’re like yoga pants.” Jon shook his head. “He’s such a pig.”

“Then why do you stay?” Cassie asked.

Jon shrugged. “I dunno. I like it here. I like the customers.” He looked towards Jake’s back at the bar. “Plus, I try to keep him in line. He doesn’t bother me because I’m a guy—I haven’t got anything he wants. Plus, I’m at school, and the job works well with my class schedule.”

Callie could not believe what she was hearing. The manager, Jake, her immediate boss, was a predator. And everyone knew it.

“Why doesn’t anyone report him?” she asked.

Jon shrugged again. “He says he’s related to the owner, or something. Maybe a brother-n-law. I’m not sure. Plus, I heard him tell Shawna that he knows where she lives.” He looked at Cassie, a serious look on his face. “He wasn’t kidding. He's one scary dude.”

Cassie turned to look at Jake’s back. He was belly-up at the bar, laughing at something the bartender said. 

“I think I might have made a mistake,” she said. “Coming here to work.”

Jon looked at her. “Maybe,” he said, “but tell you what. How ‘bout you work tonight, and I’ll keep Jake away from you. Then, after shift, make up your mind. You won’t be the first woman who’s quit after the first night.”

Jake turned to looked at them. “Hey you two! Stop jawing, and get busy setting out the side work. We open in five minutes.”

Cassie worked the shift. It was busy — steady, but not crazy busy. Other than Jake, the rest of the staff seemed to be professional. Jon was helpful, making sure that Cassie knew how to use the POS machine for putting in orders (she did), and helping her understand the menu. Horace, the bartender, was friendly and professional, explaining the different types of wines for sale, and going as far as visiting a customer’s table to help him decide which brandy would go best with the cheese tray the customer and his guest had ordered for dessert. And the kitchen staff were sweethearts—well, as sweet as you can expect someone who works in a commercial kitchen to be. 

After the last guest had left, Cassie gazed around the restaurant. She was tired, but she felt that she had comported herself well for a shorthanded first dinner shift. Everyone had except Jake. Not only did he not walk the floor speaking with customers, or check on the kitchen, or oversee the servers, he spent the entire shift sitting on the same barstool, entertaining his cronies. Cassie also noted that he ordered drinks for them, but personally took the money in cash that went directly into his pocket. And he didn't tip Horace.

As Cassie was finishing up her side work, she turned to Jon. “What about tipping out?”

He looked surprised. “Jake didn’t tell you?”

She was confused. “No. What?”

As if summoned by the mention of tips, Jake appeared. He hiked a thumb in Jon’s direction. “He tell you about tips?”

“No.”

“Okay, so two percent to Carmen, the host, ten percent to Horace, five percent to Mario, the food runner.”

That sounded reasonable to Cassie—it was more or less the industry standard.

“And I get twenty percent of all your sales. Regardless.”

She looked from Jon to Jake.

“Twenty percent? For you? The manager?”

“Yup.” He smiled his creepy smile. “Plus the fifty bucks for the shirt, and the sixty bucks for the apron. Cash. If you don’t have enough tonight, I’ll collect tomorrow, but the price goes up to one hundred twenty bucks.” He sneered, “Interest.”

Cassie was dumbfounded. She’d never heard of tipping out the manager before. And twenty percent! Usury! Managers were salaried workers who made much, much, much more than the wait staff, who worked for tips. She was angry, but she divvied up her tips, handing them out. She was left with less than half of what she had earned. She didn’t have enough to pay for her shirt or apron. She supposed that she’d have to pay the interest.  

“Plus, because he helped you tonight, you need to give Jon forty bucks for his kindness.”

She looked to Jon. He shook his head slightly, but she handed him forty dollars. After she’d handed out all her money, she realized that she had almost worked the night for free.

Jake turned and took his share from Jake, Mario, and Carman, grabbed his coat, and headed out the door. “Jon, do the banking, and close up. Make sure all the side work’s ready for tomorrow.”

The door slammed behind him. 

“Don’t let the door hit you on the ass,” said Jon as he watched Jake disappear into the night.

“Holy cow, Jon. That guy’s a piece of work.”

“That he is!” He smiled at Cassie and handed back her forty dollars. “I used him a number of times in papers for school, as a cautionary tale of everything a restaurant manager should not be.”

“What are you taking at school?” asked Cassie, interested.

“I’m taking a combined honours degree in business management and hospitality management. My goal is to work in restaurants learning how to do all the jobs, until I can get my own place. I also have a culinary arts degree, and I did my placement in France, so can cook, as well.” He smiled. “I love the restaurant business. It’s really exciting.”

Cassie helped Jon close off the day’s business.

“Doesn’t he check to make sure that the sales match the till?”

“Nah. He’s too drunk by now to do it properly, anyways. I’m pretty good at it after doing it for so long. And, because he doesn’t want to do it himself, I get a lot of dinner shifts, which is perfect for me at school.”

As they were walking towards the bus, Cassie asked Jon about Jake. “Why doesn’t anyone contact HR? The guy’s a menace. And he can’t be helping the restaurant's bottom line. How is he at handling complaints?”

Jon smiled. “We are expected to do it ourselves. But, if that doesn’t work, he just comps the meal.”

“Whhhhaaaatttt? He just comps the meal instead of dealing with the problem?”

“Yup. Or sends a bottle of wine to the table. Or a free dessert.  Be warned, if you have a problem with a customer, Jake does not want to know about it. I don’t think that I’ve ever seen him intervene with a customer to deal with a complaint.”

“Wow. And no one has called him on any of this?”

Jon smiled. “I have. Anonymously through HR. Jake doesn't know, so don't say anything. I don't want him in my face." He paused. "I called HR after Shawna quit. It’s bad enough that he takes our money, but using sexual favours to get shifts is just too much.”  

They were at the bus stop. It was where they parted ways—Jon was going west, Cassie, east.

“Well, have you decided?”

She looked confused.

“About coming back tomorrow.”

It was her turn to smile. “Oh, I’ll be here tomorrow.”

*****

Cassandra Welker entered The Bistro, her restaurant, and walked to the host stand, and introduced herself.

“I’m here to see Jake Drummond.”

Carmen looked at Cassandra, confused. She knew that Ms. Welker was the owner, and she knew that she had never met her before, but there was something familiar about her. Something that she couldn’t put her finger on.

“One moment. I’ll tell him you’re here.” She disappeared to the back.

Within two minutes, Jake was at the host stand.

“Ms. Welker. This is a surprise. I don’t think that we had an appointment scheduled.”

We don’t,” said Cassandra. “But we need to talk.” She turned to Carmen. “Could you also ask Jon Delmore to join us?”

“Certainly.”  

Jake led her to the office. He pointed to the visitor’s chair in front of his desk. “Please, have a seat.”

As they waited for Jon to join them, Jake tried to make small talk.

“So,” he said. “Everything’s okay, right?” He smiled a nervous smile. “I hope that Jake hasn’t screwed up too bad.”

Cassandra smiled. “As far as I know, Jon has been doing a superb job. Did you know that he’s working here while also attending university, full time?”

Jake was confused. “Yeah, I think I knew something about school. That’s why he can’t work a lot of lunches.”  

Just then there was a knock on the door, and Jon entered the office. He looked at Cassandra, then back to Jake, then back to Cassandra.

“Uh, Jon, this is Cassandra Welker. She’s the owner of The Bistro.” He nodded towards her. “As well as a number of well-known eating establishments around town.” He tried his smile on her, again. “All of them fine dining.”

Jon kept looking at Cassandra. “Cassie?” he said tentatively.

It was her turn to smile. “Yes.”

Jake was looking from Jon to Cassandra, confused.

“You two know each other?”

Cassandra looked at Jake. “Yes. We met last night. I was your new waitress. You know, the one who you made me buy a shirt, even though company policy states that servers provide their own uniforms. And the server you charged sixty dollars for an apron, even though we provide them free of charge to servers. The server you gouged for twenty percent of her tips, even though policy says that managers do NOT collect tips. The server who watched you drink all shift, collect money from your friends for drinks that never made it into the till. And the server who watched you do nothing other than sit at the bar for the entire dinner service. I am that server.”

Jake had paled. “I can explain—” he started.

“Save it. You’re fired. And, I don’t want to hear about you harassing any of the staff, or I will seek criminal charges against you. Do you understand”

“I—”

“Do you understand?”

Jake nodded glumly.  

Cassandra looked at him. “You need to leave. I will have any personal property couriered to your address. And just be glad that I am not charging you criminally.”

Jake said nothing. He just turned on his heel, and left the office.

Cassandra turned to Jon. “I know that you are still in school, but would you like to be my new manager? I’m sure that we can work around your schedule.”

Jon smiled. “For sure!”