I was busy texting on my phone when these two bikes roared up outside and moments later the riders barged into the diner and sprawled down in one of the booths. We prefer that the booths be used by families with children as the parents can keep the kids caged that way, but as the diner was empty apart from these two I didn't really see any need to complain.
I gave them a couple of minutes to look over the menu and decide what they wanted and then strolled across.
"Can I get you anything, gentlemen?" I asked, smiling politely.
The pair of them were looking pointedly at my breasts and didn't answer immediately.
"It says M-er-e-dith," I said, annunciating it slowly while I traced the letters across the name-tag. "There was something you wanted?"
"Faster service, for a start," snipped one of them, and I gave him an even bigger smile.
"I can help you there," I said happily. "Continue down the highway for about half a mile and you'll see another diner on the far side of the road. They give very speedy service. Their food is crap, but their service is impeccable."
"Very funny," grumbled the second bikie. "Look, I'm laughing. Can we have a menu?"
"Certainly, sir," I said, reaching for the menu in the middle of the table and passing it to him.
That earned me another nasty look. Hey, it wasn't my fault he was blind.
"Do you need help, reading that," I asked, doing my best to provide the service they'd requested.
"Why would I need help?" he asked.
"Oh, it's just that you seemed to be having trouble reading my name-tag," I tapped it to show what I was referring to, "so I thought you might have a few problems with some of the bigger words."
"We can read just fine," he said through gritted teeth while I smiled and smiled.
"No worries then," I assured him. "Just wave or give a yell when you're ready to order."
I returned to leaning against the counter, ignoring the muttered comment of, "Snippy bitch".
I kept one eye on them and when they turned to look my way I made my way back to their booth. Two pairs of eyes promptly zeroed in on my breasts again. Now I know I have nice breasts but couldn't they show a tiny bit of discretion?
"Meredith, remember?" I said, tapping the name-tag again. "You can call me Merry if that's easier for you to say."
Those two certainly had a lot of nasty looks to give away. They must buy them by the barrel. They gave me their order and I noted it down and then repeated it back. Customers like these you have to, or they'll claim you got it wrong when you bring back their exact order.
"You the cook as well?" asked the guy who wanted faster service.
"No," I said shaking my head. "We have a real cook. He's OK. When you've been cooking for over fifty years I guess you learn."
"Geez, an old geezer cook," came the grumble. "We'll be waiting forever."
"You'll find his age isn't a problem. The grill doesn't care how old you are. It cooks at the same speed no matter who you are. We've also got a good smoke alarm that'll wake him up if he nods off for too long."
They didn't look too happy but that wasn't my problem. I took the order through to old Jimmy and he got to work. He might have been in his seventies but he was quite spry and enjoyed filling in as our off-peak cook.
I knew roughly how long the meals would take to cook so I timed the coffee to be ready just before that. I was putting the coffee on their table even as Jimmy rang his little bell to tell me the meals were ready.
The two bikies ate their meal, calling for additional coffee half way through. When they relaxed and sat back I returned and asked if they wanted anything else, ignoring the way their eyes focused on my, ah, name-tag. Maybe I should stick it on my forehead.
When I asked if there was anything else one of them got a lecherous smile and opened his mouth, only to be shut down by the other guy.
"We don't have time for that," he said. "Just the bill, miss. On second thoughts, don't even worry about the bill. This should cover it and you can keep the change."
He handed me a couple of fifties, which surprised me, as a single fifty would have covered both the meal and a small tip. I just nodded and stuffed the money in the pocket of my tunic, taking a step backwards while thanking them for coming and inviting them to return anytime. (See, I can do polite.)
"Hey, Mac," said the guy who had been shut down by his mate, "we've got time for sneak-a-peek, haven't we."
"Now that you mention it, Bobby, we do," said Mac.
I was looking confused while Mac jerked his thumb at Bobby and then in the general direction of the door. Bobby started walking past me while Mac gave me this very big smile, a smile which actually made him look quite attractive.
I think I should pause for a moment at this point and describe these two. They might have been bikies but they weren't the greasy, hairy, smelly, stereotype. They were both big and muscular, clean shaven, reasonable haircuts, their leathers worn but not over-worn and not patched. Also, a very big plus in my books, they didn't smell. I mean, I've had the occasional customer who was so rank that their odour would curdle milk. Quite frankly, if these two had been locals there was a good chance I'd have been willing to date them.
Seeing they weren't locals I didn't trust Mac, even with that nice smile. I can assure you that I trusted him a damn sight less when he flicked open the top button on my tunic.
"Hey, cut that out," I snapped, slapping at his hand and taking a step backwards. I was brought up abruptly by Bobby who was standing right behind me. He promptly grabbed hold of my arms.
"Relax and be merry, Merry," said Mac. "We're not going to hurt you. We're just going to take a look at those beautiful breasts of yours to make sure that you're not wearing a padded bra. That done we'll be gone."
All things considered there wasn't much I could do. The only other person in the diner was old Jimmy and I couldn't see him being much use against these two. By the time he got out here they'd probably be on their way, taking my bra as a trophy. Fighting seemed contra-indicated. Either one of them out-weighed me two to one at a minimum. All I could do was point out that I'd rather they didn't do this.
"Get you greasy paws off me, you licentious pigs," I snapped. "I don't do padded bras. I don't have body issues like certain insecure men who keep their spare socks rolled up and stuffed down the front of their pants. I'll tell the cops and you'll be charged with assault and they will catch you because your bikes will have been caught on camera."
