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“It turns out an illness took out a few of the waitstaff for tonight. I’m going to need one of your people to exchange their whites for a waitress uniform.”

“I’m sorry?” she says, frowning. “This is the first I’ve heard—”

“It happened. This is the solution. I’ve already picked who I want to serve us.”

“Oh?”

“The sous chef,” I say.

The woman stares at me for a long moment, clearly shocked. But she remembers her assignment well. No questions asked.

She smiles politely and nods. “Whatever you want, sir.”

I nod back. “Excellent answer.”


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