The magic seems to have given you dim memories of having been a waitress for a few years, so you’re not completely clueless about how to do your job. You’re just not particularly good at it -- writing down people’s orders wrong, giving the wrong drink orders to the bartender, bringing food to the wrong tables, giving people the wrong change.
It doesn’t seem to matter. You’re getting tons of tips, and you overhear several different people telling the hostess that they’ll wait for a table in your section rather than take a vacant table elsewhere.
Finally, after a couple of hours of your jiggling, the lunch rush is over and you get to take a break -- to the obvious disappointment of a group of several men who’d just been seated in what they thought was your section. They’re all fairly cute, and the thought briefly crosses your mind to make it up to them by offering to meet each of them for sex later.
You shake your head, though, as you go through the “employees only” door to the small locker room. So that’s how it feels to be “incredibly slutty,” as you’d written on the piece of paper.
You remember somehow which locker is yours, as well as the combination. You take your cash tips out of your shorts pocket -- a giant wad of bills -- open the locker and discover that, on top of a purse, a pair of high heels, and a small pile of clothing, is the note on which you wrote your wish several hours ago.
Rip up this paper to undo the change, you read again from the instructions. You look up into the small mirror that’s attached to your open locker door, to see the beautiful, heavily made-up face. You purse your puffy, oversized lips into a kiss. This is exactly what you’d fantasized about, but the slutty thought startled you enough that you’re contemplating ripping the paper and turning back.
You decide...