2020-09-20 - Working with Waffles

The Waffle Shoppe sees good, steady business on Sundays despite being technically outside of town. The waffles are worth it. And the friendly staff. One of the servers has helpfully handed Zoey an application, a pen and her pick of counter seating. She's been directed toward a booth at one end of the establishment where a very casually dressed person sits with a laptop, a stack of papers and a cup of coffee. Reese wears a sleeveless dark grey shirt with a large pale grey rose printed on the front. The side of her head is shaved, but it looks like it's been several weeks since the last buzz, the fuzzy growth starting to brush her ear. Occasionally, she looks up to consider the restaurant and its patrons, to make sure everything's running smoothly, but mostly? She seems focused on whatever she's doing on her laptop, jotting down intermittent notes on paper.

Zoey finds herself an empty booth to tuck her day satchel and herself into, sitting down for ten minutes to fill out the two-page application form with what might be seen as an expensive pen. She is dressed in loose-fitting cargo pants that are a white-black-grey camo pattern, cinched tight at her slim waist with an oversized belt. Over this, she is wearing a lime-and-grey colored sweatshirt hoodie, with the hood up to mostly cover her head as she bends over the app. She writes in cursive, but it is a very artistic and readable pen, not scribbles and scrawls. When that is all done, and she's double-checked that all fields are filled out, she slides out of the booth and takes a deep breath. It's sixteen steps from her booth to Reese's, but she steels herself, straightens her back, and marches up to the owner with a respectful pause to be recognized.

Reese looks up at Zoey's approach, flashing a friendly enough smile before returning her attention to the screen in front of her. A little more scrolling, another number jotted down, this one with an asterisk beside it, and she sets down her pen, cheap and easily replaceable, to be sure. Her smile's a bit wider, a little more welcoming when she considers Zoey again, a hand held out to gesture to the spot across from her and wordlessly ask for the application. "Reese Burke. How may I help you?"

Zoey puts on a shy smile as she extends her hand (with green-painted nails) to Reese, "Zoey Lowenn. I'd like to be your new, most amazing, waitress." Okay, so the girl's taken a course on presenting her best proverbial foot forward, and how to do so with a positive self-image lifter. "I've worked diners before, in Vegas, so I have a few years' experience. I'm friendly, fast, told that I have an amazing work ethic," she volunteers seriously, no outward trace of bragging or lying (if one is good at picking those things up).

Reese accepts the offered hand, her own nails unpainted but neatly kept, her grip casually confident. Her smile grows at the introduction, gaze flicking to track one of the servers currently on shift as if to subtly indicate there might be competition for that title, but she doesn't name names. "Alright," has a slight lilt of appreciation to it. If Zoey's at all good with regional accents, she might be starting to pick up on the absence of key PNW features that would indicate the diner-owner is local. Sounds east coast, really, with a hint of SoCal, though it might take a bit more talking to catch those notes. "And do you have your own means of reliable transportation? How many hours are you looking for? Any other jobs or obligations we'll need to schedule around?"

"I'm looking for a place to stay, currently at a hotel a mile or so away. I like walking, so I'd likely do that, or buy a bike," Zoey says with an easy shrug, as if to say that finding transportation won't be an issue for her. "No other jobs, no other responsibilities, my only other thing in life is drawing," a small pause, "So I could take all the hours you want to throw at me?" That's a suggestion given with a mischevious smile, as if she knows that she is going out on a limb being cheeky and over-confident.

Reese peruses the application while Zoey answers, going slowly enough to suggest she's actually reading what's there and not just scanning through. A faint purse of her lips at the lack of either permanent residence or means of transportation might indicate a couple of marks against the would-be-waitress, but the upbeat attitude and enthusiasm surely count for something. She sets the application on her stack of papers, the pen lifted then resettled atop the ever so slightly higher pile. "What's keeping you here? Why Gray Harbor?" Which is to ask: how likely is it that this girl is gonna dip out randomly a week or two in?

Zoey freezes, stares for a moment at Reese, caught flat-footed by such a question. A question that she's never been asked before, truly. "Uhm," she tries to start, her confidence shaken just a touch, "So far, I love it here?" Not that it's a lie. It's the Pacific Northwest, and for a soul like hers, it is comforting to wake up to misty mornings, owls in the trees, drinking tea on a porch in the misty rain. "And because I'm running from the mafia and figure that they'll never catch me here, in the witness relocation program?" that, it seems, is a dry attempt at injecting some humor because she just won't lie about it, won't blow sunshine. "I need an anchor," she says a moment later, getting serious as she slides into the booth seat opposite Reese, leaning on the table and letting her urgency spill in hushed, quick whispers, "Please. I don't /like/ traveling around, but to be honest, this place doesn't seem to have a lot of anime fans. I could use the peace and quiet, and waffles. I love blueberry waffles. I'm serious."

Reese nods agreeably enough with the first bit. Loving it here is a pretty solid reason, one another outsider who's chosen to stay can understand. It's probably pretty high on her list, too. The follow-up gets a long look from the diner-owner and a mutter of, "You might wanna catch up on local news." Just in case Zoey's missed all the recent gun violence here in Gray Harbor. Sure, it might not be mafia-related, but there's definitely something going on. Might not be the best place to lay low. "Hard not to be serious about blueberry waffles," she agrees as her attention turns toward her laptop again, pulling something up. They could definitely use the help, especially with school starting up, the diner's edge-of-town location making it an easy stop for folks heading out to one of the nearby colleges. "Alright. I'll need ID, and we'll need to get a couple more forms filled out--" For payroll and taxes. "--then we'll see if we can get you on the schedule in the next couple of days."

That reply has Zoey's eyebrows rising slowly, a raising of the hairs on the back of her neck as she watches Reese's eyes and expression. Even the blueberry waffles comment is given a miss, as the redheaded girl nods slowly at the semi-serious advice about the news. Giving Reese a minute for her laptop, Zoey sits back in the booth, swallowing as she tries to wait patiently. When ID is called for, she reaches for her satchel and pulls out a little bright-colored wallet complete with a small figurine charm dangling from it. A Nevada driver's license is put on the table, then a Social Security card (with a few stains and crinkles).

Reese accepts the wallet, looking the IDs over even as she tilts slightly to fish her phone from a jeans pocket. It takes all of half-a-minute to launch a handy little document scanning app and capture one side then the other. Then another moment to send them off to herself so they can be properly filed with other employee paperwork. When she hands the wallet over and puts her phone back, she mutters a quiet, "Just a minute," as she closes her laptop and excuses herself from the booth. It might take more than a minute to run to the back office and get the right forms, but that might also be because she stops in the kitchen to place an order before returning. As she hands the papers over, she allows, "Just bring 'em in with you on Tuesday. I should have some hours for you by then." And then, as she settles, she asks, "You like anime?"

Reese seems to certainly be technology-forward, for a small town waffle house owner, which surprises Zoey as she watches this process. Even Vegas took paper photocopies. Taking her wallet back, she idly tucks it back into her satchel as she continues to watch Reese's process, nodding at the words. "I draw," she offers, but then stops there, "Been to a few cons, was active in the community in LA for a few years." All true. With a little nibbling of her bottom lip, she tilts her head and rebounds the question, "Do you?"

Certain things are just easier with technology. And certain other things still require very manual processing. Like tax forms. Not a lot to be done about that. Reese gives her head a shake when the question is turned back toward her, though a hand comes up to wobble after. "Not really." Though, clearly, also not not at all. "There used to be a comic shop in town that sold some anime, some manga. I prefer western stuff. Marvel and all that." The flash of a crooked smile suggests that might be the tip of the iceberg, but it's surely the most readily accessible part these days. "I figure there had to have been some market for the shop to open in the first place," sounds more like optimism. "Not sure where that community has scattered to, though."

"Marvel is amazing," Zoey says, "I started doing a comic once with a Marvel heroine. I like the style much better than the cutesy stuff." Sitting quietly, she is not sure what is happening, other than the hints of her ID being scanned, then that she will be rotated onto the schedule. That's when it hits her, and with a startled blink, she blurts, "Wait, you're hiring me?" Maybe she missed the outright statement, but Reese seems to be subtle and sneakery.

The surprise in Zoey's expression is mirrored dimly in Reese's. Hadn't she said that? Okay, so, maybe not in so many words, but. "Yeah." That's what the scheduling bit and the paperwork meant. "Unless ax-murderer or waffle-thief comes up on your background check." She doesn't sound like she's joking, but does she really need to express that in her tone when the ridiculousness of the possibilities is inherent in those words? And there's a smile, lazy and comfortable and slightly teasing. "Has any of your work been published?"

Zoey gives a sparkling laugh, shaking her head at the suggested ex-career choices asked about, giving a good idea that her background check will be mostly spotless. Aside from being picked up and released in Northern California for sleeping on a State Park picnic table under a shelter in a rainstorm. Not even tickets. Giving Reese's direct question a shrug, a reluctant nodding answer, Zoey chews her lip, "Yeah. A few times." Googling her name would reveal that she had two manga series that were published in Japan and in anime circles, were well-received. Seems that she ended both series and hasn't published anything, even on her Patreon, for a couple of months. No Tweets, either. She's gone dark.

Reese will surely look later. And wonder if the line about hiding from the mafia had some truth to it. But whatever questions and concern might arise from such searches are a future problem. For now, she seems to get the hint, picking up on that reluctance, on the brevity in the answer. She's not gonna press. She just nods, looking slightly impressed, and moves on. "Well. I won't force any more small talk on you. Welcome aboard, Zoey. I'll get you some hours and a nametag soon, and if you've got any questions for me..?" Now might be an okay time to ask them. "If you want some waffles, they're on the house today. To celebrate the new job."

Zoey is too clean of a girl to seem to have any ties to anything sinister, her face and expressions certainly don't lend themselves to the shifty-eyed glances that someone of that ilk might employ. Wincing a bit when Reese talks about 'forcing small talk', Zoey waves a hand, "I'm sorry. It's not that... I just, I am not cut out for being an 'influencer', nor am I any good at marketing myself. I just like to draw. It was other people that convinced me to publish my work, that's all. It was a lot of headache that I'm not suited for, running my love as a business, you know?" A pause, then she brightens a smile, "I love waffles, so do you offer an employee discount?"

Reese smiles crookedly as she looks out over the diner and shakes her head. "No," she doesn't really know what Zoey means. Not from personal experience. "But I was raised on the business side of things. Both of my parents are in the industry. So that side comes pretty naturally. Not that this place needs a lot of marketing. It was well-established before I bought it, and we've got great cooks on board." Smiling wider, which makes her look both younger and more feminine, she adds, "And everybody loves waffles." Nodding, she confirms, "Not a discount per se, but one meal per eight hour shift. Two if you're stuck longer than that. Which shouldn't happen often." But it must happen sometimes for there to be a policy about it.

Zoey has little to spend money on, other than sketch books, rent and meals, so she gives a grin and a definitive nod to all of that. "I am excited," the girl notes with bright eyes, "and yes, everyone loves waffles. This should be a great place to meet new friends, too, so thank you very much for the opportunity. I won't let you down. I think this would be the type of place I hang out, even when not working!"

Reese's smile goes wide again at that enthusiasm, a little nod following. "It's a good place, and I'm glad to have you on board." If she still has reservations about Zoey disappearing a few weeks into the job, she doesn't voice them. The decision is already made, and she'll deal with the consequences as they come. "Now, I've got some work to finish up," she notes with a pat to her laptop. "You let Lois know what you want--" She points at the middle-aged woman behind the counter, "--and she'll comp it for you."

"Oh, right, yes, sorry, thank you," comes the rushed apologies and appreciation as Zoey gathers up her bag and slips out of the boothseat. Extending her hand, exhuberant and bubbly, she is clearly also socially nervous... almost retracting the hand at least twice. Then she almost skips to find a seat at the bar and find out just how amazing the blueberry waffles might be.