Authenticity, by Eric Smith

The café had been open an hour and the waitress was late. Roy, manager and head cook, served the food himself. Unhappy, he carried the plates from the kitchen to the tables, too many extra steps for each order. But what a cool authenticity—the guy who made it delivered it directly to the consumer. He grunted, expected no tips, slammed the plates on the tables—not so hard the food jumped off, but with a thump to shock the customers. Roy, intimating he operated at some higher level, took his time filling the coffee. The regulars poured their own.