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“Who is that guy?” one of them whispered as she passed me.
“Table 12,” I said quietly.
“Oh. Him. Good luck. He’s already sent things back twice.”
“Three times now,” I said.
The chef shook his head slowly. “He’s testing you,” he said. “Nobody is this picky.”
Maybe he was right. But I still picked up the new plate when it was ready. I still walked it back continue reading …
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