Yanis – The Waiter
« Can’t see much difference from some of my usual customers, honestly. »
On the morning of Bastille Day, table twelve ordered two croque-monsieurs and a carafe of rosé, bit the busboy, and shambled off without paying. Yanis still has the receipt. Twelve years on a packed Saint-Germain terrace taught him to slip between chairs, elbows and tourists without spilling a drop. His steel serving tray is now belted to his forearm and has stopped more teeth than it ever carried plates. His steak knife hasn’t needed sharpening yet. Somewhere out there, table twelve still owes him forty-seven euros, service included, and he intends to collect.
