Mrs Goody Two Shoes XXXV

Can I take your order, please?

Waitressing has been added to the "skill set" on my resume

When I had asked my team of about thirty people if I could bring coffee for anybody, I was being nice. And I had thought that this bunch of ‘adults’ would know that. Have they not learnt to read the tone of politeness for the sake of politeness? I was actually heading off to CCD in the ten-minute break I had got since I was super bored with my office canteen’s version of the hot beverage. So I asked, “Guys, anyone needs anything?”
“You’re going? Cool! Sweetie, can you please get me a latte? And a brownie? Oh, and it would be reeeeeally nice if you could get a box of cookies too. (Turning to her best friend) You know, I had promised my daughter I will bring a box for her, but never got time. (Turning to me) That’s all.” This was one of the seniors. ‘That’s all’? It sounded like a monthly grocery list to me. All I could do is bite my tongue. I had asked for it after all.
I got up from my seat all grumpy faced. Almost out of the door and I heard a scream, “Stop, stop!” I thought someone wanted to come with me. A smile of relief had just started to make an appearance, when, “Just get me a mocha…” Well, there’s no point in listing the items.
Straddled with more orders, I arrived at CCD. After rattling on the long list, I was asked to wait for “at least half an hour for your order ma’am”. So my ten-minute break extended, and not to half an hour but forty minutes. I came back, precariously balancing coffees and sandwiches and cakes. My boss gave me a nasty look, “We come here to work, not to party.” His mood worsened when he realized that there was all this food with nothing for him. His thunderous look suggested I was going to have a very unpleasant time. Quickly, I handed him the sandwich I had bought for myself.
“I got this for you, sir.”
“Is that chicken?”
I froze. He was a vegetarian. “Um, well…” my mind was racing, it had to find a good excuse, “It is soya, actually, made into a paste.” He was gullible enough, or perhaps greedy enough, to fall for it.
My day was somewhat saved. But I hadn’t seen what was coming. My boss came to think it my job role entailed buying food for him, at least whenever I went out for food, or even a cup of tea in the canteen. In the initial days, he would add a please at the end of his demanding tone. The please vanished gradually, and even specific instructions went away. By the end of a week it was, “Get me something.” And by the end of two, it was just a look.
The seniors took his cue too. They would not even wait for me to go somewhere, but blatantly order. “Girl, get some butter chicken and rotis for lunch, okay?” was the first instruction I would receive in the morning. It went on and on. They even told me what I should cook at home and bring.
So now, I am the official waitress-cum-bearer-cum-cook in the office. And no, I do not get extra pay for it.