“Once I get the hang of everything,” Mark replied.
“I think you will. It’s not all that hard and it’s not like we’re a big place. Most of the people who come here are locals so they’ll give you a break…the first couple of times.” Remo grinned. “After that…”
“Yeah, got it.”
Remo handed him a small, black waiter’s apron, an order pad, and a couple of pens. “Ready?”
A glance at the clock told Mark it was almost eleven. He nodded. “As ready as I’ll ever be, I guess.”
* * * *
A week later, Mark was beginning to feel at home at Johnny F’s. It was hard work, but he’d expected it would be, remembering his days as a seminary student, working for extra cash at a local restaurant close to the campus. The customers were, for the most part, forgiving of his occasional mistakes and some even made it a point to take their seats in his station whenever possible.