The Little Lace Thong.

Finally… my shift is almost over.

It’s already so late and I can’t wait to just get back home. Tomorrow’s my day off. 

There’s not a lot of people here right now – thankfully – maybe about six people – all couples. They’re all almost done. 

The lights are dimmed. The velvety walls and dark-stained floor makes it feel homey.

“I hope no one else comes in,” I mumbled to myself. 

I flattened my white buttoned shirt and adjusted my black tie. I stared at the computer screen of reservations; then the door; then the computer screen; then the door again.

“So far, so good,” I thought to myself, spinning a pen between my fingers to pass the time a little quicker.

Then suddenly–whoosh–a rush of cold air. I stood by the door, but couldn’t actually see it because of a velvety drape that blocked it. I only knew when someone was coming in after: (1) cold air hits my face or (2) the lit candles on the walls go out for a split second.

Unfortunately for me, both of those things just happened.

In came a man who had wavy hair that stopped right above the shoulder as the top of his hair was slicked back to keep it neat. He had a black suit jacket that was open so you could see his dark blue patterned shirt match his dark blue patterned loafers.

“Nice,” I nodded my head in approval.

“Excuse me?” Oh sh-t, totally wasn’t paying attention. 

“Good evening! How many are we tonight?” Nice, played it off.

“Just two.”

I shifted my eyes slightly to the left and saw he was with a woman. She had big curly brown hair with subtle blonde highlights. Her gold necklace dangled slightly above her navy satin dress and whatever heels or shoes she was wearing made her slightly taller than the man.

She was beautiful.

“E-Excuse me?” Sh-t! Not again.

I didn’t respond, I just quickly tapped the computer screen  to see which table I could seat them at and then said, “Please, follow me.” Phew, played it off again.

The low jazz music and small chatter filled the awkward silence of me getting distracted by this couple. You could hear the clanging of the dishes – spoons hitting plates and plates getting stacked – that signaled to me that people were starting to leave.

“Here you go,” I motioned to the table, pulling out the chair for the woman. I could feel the man stare at me with caution. I gave him a quick glance, hoping he could pick up my thoughts of: “Sir… I’m just doing my job.”

I don’t think he picked up on it.

After the woman sat down, I went to the center of the table and laid the menus out in front of them. “Enjoy,” I smiled at the man first, and then the woman. Only she gave me a smile back.

I’m assuming the man still thinks I’m up to something. But I promise, I’m just trying to go home.

30 MINUTES LATER

I have less than an hour left.

I’m back at my computer screen and am continuing my watching-the-front-door-hoping-no-one-else-comes-in tactic. And, so far so good.

I glanced back at the couple I seated earlier. 

Though the man has been making me uneasy with the glares he gives me when I go to their table, they seem to be hitting it off – the man is talking while the woman is giggling, holding her glass of wine.

I wonder if it’s a first date? Or an anniversary? 

Either way, it must be nice. 

“Sigh,” I let out under my breath, resting my chin on my hand, before smiling a little bit.

Then – of course – the man turns in my direction and gives me a death stare. I immediately straightened my posture and shook my head no, trying to telepathically tell him: “Really… it’s not what you think!”

Annoyed and confused, he looked away.

I don’t think I’m getting a tip from him.

I returned to my slouching posture – mainly because I don’t think any other customer is coming in and my back is starting to kill me – and then I noticed something on the floor.

It was black, but I couldn’t make out what it was. I tried staring closer and harder at it, but couldn’t fully see it until the woman moved her leg from under the tablecloth.

Black. Lace? Thin fabric.

“I-Is that her thong?!” I yelled in my mind as I felt my eyes bulge out. 

The woman leaned forward and the man met her halfway. She kicked her leg to the back and the fabric dragged with it. How does she not feel that?

I’ve been here for nearly 10 hours… maybe I’m just delusional?

She moved her foot once again and I saw it as clear as day. A black thong with a pink tag sticking out. The strap on the side further from me had snapped.

Yeah… I don’t think that’s from my imagination. 

Should I tell her? Should I not? I don’t wanna look like a weirdo… I mean, I am kind of staring her down and her man already thinks I’m in love with her.

“Hmm,” I thought to myself. “Well, if I was a woman and my thong was on the floor during my first date [if this is even their first date], I would be embarrassed that no one told me my thong was dragging on the floor.”

“Don’t worry, pretty lady,” I thought, nodding my head thinking this was a bright idea. “I got you.”

I walked up to their table and could already feel the man get uneasy. I couldn’t think of another way to tell her – ask how they’re doing or go straight for it? – so I went straight for it.

I went up to her and stopped beside her ear. Her curls covered it, but smelled just like coconut oil. Quickly, I whispered:

“Ma’am, your thong is-”

“ENOUGH!” The man bursted. Ah, it was only a matter of time. “You’ve been making googly eyes at her all night and I’ve had enough. The disrespect. Come on–” he shot up, reaching out to the woman “-- we’re leaving.”

The two began to walk away, but the man turned around and threw down a couple hundred bills onto the table, “Keep the change, kid.”

The woman looked at me, but was pulled into the opposite direction. Somehow, the thong slipped right off her foot and was now left on the floor. In the middle of the restaurant.

That’s the last time I’m working a 10 hour shift.

In a cab, heading back to Manhattan

“Where the hell is my thong?”