“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.”