"Hey tutz, can I get some more coffee over here," the man in the MAGA hat yelled out across the room.

"Sure, but don't call me tutz, and you'll have to take off your hate, the sign on the front door says no hats," the waitress responded while pouring coffee before moving to the next table.

More coffee here, taking an order there, more orange juice, heat up the food. She was tired. She was the only waitress here today. No by design, but because the new girl didn't show up for her shift today. An eight our shift had slowly turned to ten and now twelve. There was nothing stopping it from turning into sixteen hours. Then she would do it all tomorrow. The patrons didn't care that she was the only one on the floor. The cooks didn't care she wasn't the only one running orders.

"Hey doll, I ordered half an hour ago. Where's my food at," MAGA man yells out again.

"I told you don't call me that," the waitress says moving past the table.

"No you said don't call you tutz. Is there any reason you can't do your job well," he asks gripping his tool belt and laughing with his buddies.

What kind of asshole wears a tool belt inside she thinks to herself, having finally reached her peak.

"Get out now," she barks back at the man.

"You can't put me out, I haven't gotten my food yet," he responds to the idea of being ejected with confusion.

"I don't care," she shouts him down.

The man gets up, not wanting to draw more attention to his table already. He looks to his friends for support but they've already prepared to exit. Not wanting to be part of his scene. He gets up and yells obscenities on his way out. She spots a wrench that had fallen from his tool belt and grabs it.

"You forgot this," she yells flinging it at the back of his skull.

The rest of the patrons clap as it hits with a thud then clanks when it hits the floor.

"You will take the fall for this," he yells back to her.

"I don't care, just get out of my restaurant"

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