Made to Order
by Shauna Checkley
When Kendyl pulled into the parking lot, her heart was pounding furiously. Her old yellow Ford fit neatly in an empty space near the front door of the restaurant, but she felt as nervous as if she were about to engage in public speaking or to perform in some way.
The parking lot was jam-packed. Crap, she thought. So many customers tonight for supper. Just my luck.
Overhead the sky was awash in late-day pastels, but the Saskatchewan wind was unforgiving. She felt a chill pass through her. It was her first shift at Mothby’s, a franchise situated on the other side of the sleepy prairie city. She was wearing the black and white uniform that they had presented her with, and she had applied her makeup extra carefully: black eyeliner, red lipstick.
You can do it, Kendyl told herself. Even though she had been unemployed for two years, she had worked in food service twenty-five years. She knew she was just experiencing a fit of nerves. That’s all. Really what else could it be?
When she entered through the smokey glass doors that had “Mothby’s” emblazoned on them, she was met by her grim-faced supervisor. Maddy was thirty-something and her hair was twisted into an up-do, and her lips formed a severe line. “The other girl phoned in sick. You’re it tonight. So, you better be on.” And she gave Kendyl a dirty look.
The younger woman had no idea why she was being greeted with such hostility. Could they be blaming me for the other girl’s absence? How can she help it if she’s truly sick? Kendyl already felt unnerved at the turn of events.
The restaurant was bustling as ever, with long tables full. It was decorated in the old west tradition with wagon wheels, wood everywhere and faded posters and bull whips on the wall. Tall plants adorned nooks and crannies throughout Mothby’s, giving it a somewhat homey feel.
Rushing to the back, Kendyl retrieved her writing pad and pen and apron. She slipped the apron on and despaired at having no help for the night.
She moved quickly from table to table. She took orders. Rushed to the back. Filled coffee cups. Water jugs and glasses full of water. Retrieved the alcoholic drinks her supervisor poured at the long, polished-oak bar. Cosmopolitans. Vodka Specials. Domestic and Import beer.
At the bar, a couple ate and chatted occasionally with the supervisor. They looked at Kendyl blankly without acknowledging her, They were maybe five years older than Kendyl and wearing expensive-looking leather jackets.
Kendyl fetched cutlery and ketchup bottles and napkins and any and all overlooked or missing items from the tables that sported old-fashioned looking road maps on them. And she did it all with lightning speed and determination.
Looking up from her menu, a portly, middle-aged woman with a booming voice said, “Could I order the special tonight, please? And a small Caesar salad on the side. And could you bring it out first?”
Beside her sat a mousy-haired man with a hollow-looking chest. “I’ll have the special as well,” he said.
Kendyl nodded.
As that particular order was being prepared, Kendyl delivered the other orders to their tables. Steak. Burgers. Ribs. It was meat and potatoes fare. The customers smiled and were unfailingly polite, no unreasonable demands were made.
Kendyl felt herself began to ease into her role as sole waitress for that evening. This isn’t so bad, she thought.
With her anxiety at an all-time high, she had had to cease working for a while. She had been diagnosed as having an anxiety disorder, a crippling lifelong condition. But she was hoping to get back into the game somehow. My meds have really helped me, she thought gratefully. Now just to get through this shift, this very evening.
Returning to the table with the portly woman and the mousy looking man, Kendayl said, “Here are the two specials you ordered.” And she set them carefully down in front of them.
In that same loud but kind voice, the woman said, “Could you bring my salad, too, dear. That’s alright; just a little oversight.”
Everyone at the bar froze. Her supervisor frowned. The couple who were dining there threw their hands up in exasperation. They turned towards her and glared.
“So very sorry!” Kendyl exclaimed remembering the specifications of the order.
“No worries, dear,” the portly woman said, smiling
Kendyl hurried to the back and got the salad. “My apologies,”
The lady smiled and nodded and began to eat furiously.
Turning to get the coffee pot and do a round of refills, her supervisor charged over to her. “Just what was that about?” she snapped
“I uh... forgot to bring the salad out first.”
“I see,” Maddy said flatly.
Kendyl felt her anxiety rise like an unchecked fever. Oh, my God! What have I done!
But it made her only move faster, try harder. She listened extra carefully, all to the best of her ability.
The din in the restaurant was growing louder, like some loose beast that had been cornered. At one table where a couple sat, she took their order. “I’d like the house salad but not with the pecans that cost extra,” the woman said.
“Me, too. I need to watch my figure,” her partner joked. They all laughed.
Whisking away, Kendyl immediately placed their order with the cook who had on the same uniform and his hair in a hair net.
She rang up orders. Cleared away tables. Set tables. Did rounds of water and coffee.
Meanwhile, Maddy and the couple eyed her suspiciously. The couple were dark-haired and dressed stylishly. They looked like they had stepped out of a magazine cover.
After the couple who had both eaten salads had finished and were paying for their order, Kendyl hit a snag. The register would only accept their order as if they had had pecans on it, thus making it more expensive. Try as she might, the register wouldn’t compute it any other way.
“Sorry, I’ll have to get my supervisor. If you can excuse me for a moment.”
The couple nodded graciously in understanding.
Stomping to the cash register, Maddy corrected the error. Kendyl could see the tightness in her face and feel tension and anger as palpable as the grease in the air.
The couple left.
The supper hour rush was clearing out with just stragglers or drinkers dotting the huge establishment. The din had died down. It was nothing now that even one staff member couldn’t handle. Like Kendyl. Or even just Maddy herself.
The leather-clad strangers approached Kendyl and hissed, “Turn in your uniform. You’re done. You can’t do orders properly. You are fired immediately. We are the owners, after all.”
Kendyl blinked.
Maddy smiled faintly.
“I wore my uniform here so I can’t just turn it in,” she said, reeling in disbelief.
Maddy swiped at Kendyl’s name tag. ripping it halfway off, so it dangled precariously. She said, “You heard it, turn it in.”
Unfastening the apron and name tag, Kendyl handed it to them.
Maddy snatched it from her and handed it to the owners.
“Hey, you don’t have to be like that. I just made a couple of mistakes. It’s my first day on the job, and I had no help,”
“Get out,” the owners hissed in near unison
Feeling the farm girl in her rise, Kendyl cried, “If you want to take it outside, I’ll more than oblige you!”
Everyone froze.
“C’mon get out, and you are locked out now. Do not try and re-enter tonight,” the male owner said, sharply.
The trio looked at her with narrow, dismissive eyes. The female owner folded her arms.
Leaving stunned and in tears, Kendyl paused in her vehicle. All she could think of were her parents, who were her main supporters and the reason why she continued to live in the community. Hate that I have let them down once again. Or did I really?
She knew that her bosses were just being unfair and unrealistic. That’s all. Besides, they’ll just likely put that Maddy to work until closing as things have slowed right down to a near standstill. She’ll have to get up and actually work instead of just bartending.
In a bid to calm herself, Kendyl took several deep breaths. It was something her counsellor had always instructed her to do in times of distress. Breath in. Breath out. And repeat.
Retrieving her phone from her tan Michael Kors bag, she texted her parents who were at a Journey concert.
fired omg all for shit
Then she phoned the police.
A lady constable answered. “This is the local police. How may I help you?”
“I was assaulted at work. My bosses snatched at my uniform and tore my tag off me. They were aggressive in manner.”
“Where do you work?”
“Mothby’s restaurant in the south end,”
“I see. Unfortunately, harassment is far too common in the service industry. But we’ll send a cruiser by. Do come down and fill out a report. First, what is your name and address?” the officer asked.
“Kendyl Smith. 236 Ash street. You have my phone number?”
“Yes, it’s recorded. We’ll investigate.”
“Thanks, bye,”
Lying in bed that night, Kendyl was downcast at how things turned out. But she was proud that she had exchanged fear for fight, checking her anxiety right at the door. Then a revelation, a near vision came to her: she saw herself kicking the shit out of them all, going bad-ass farm girl on them and delivering justice for the ages. She laughed. Petted her cat. Played on her phone.
Copyright © 2025 by Shauna Checkley
