“Can I get some more wet naps, ma’am?” the customer asks you.
You see the used wipe on his table soiled with a single streak of brown rib sauce. It’s a bit of a pain to get more for someone who hasn’t finished using the first, but what the fuck, the money’s not coming out of your pocket.
“Right away, sir,” you say with the hollow, practiced, and completely false politeness of a ten-year server.
You dip into the server station and grab a handful of pre-packaged wet wipes out of the tub. You return to the table and place the wipes in the center of the table in a small pile.
The customer smiles at you. “Thanks.” He reaches for a wipe and tears it open, then lays it neatly over his hand. Without hesitation or shame, he shoves the wipe-covered hand down the back of his pants. “One is never enough.”