Nesi
I take a long hit of my vape and blow it into the air like a cold day. I'm a frost dragon. I'm just kidding. But if I was, I could fly far the fuck away from here. I stand outside the rear door of the restaurant where I work, and I hear the crackle of the drive-thru microphone. This is where I enjoy my breaks if they can even be called that. Sara's voice from the drive-thru is too shrill, making me hit my vape again. Too bad the cartridge isn't THC. Then I'd be high and probably could imagine myself as a dragon.
The black pants I wear are too tight, showing my ass, and you know what? That's not my fault. I begged for new pants but would have to pay for them, and to hell with that. My dark green polo shirt surprisingly fits. I don't have the most enormous tits in the world, but tits are still tits, right? Yeah? Someone... ugh. Having a small cup size is brutal. Good thing I have an ass, though.
I get catcalled as I watch the cars round the curve to the first window. It's not the first time, and I know it won't be the last so long as I work in this stupid, fucking... scratch that. I'm trying to have a better mental attitude but failing. I take another puff of my vape to calm my thoughts and blow the vapor toward the guy who whistled at me from his car.
The door beside me kicks open. I don't even jump or react and turn my head to see who emerged from it. It's Bill. Of course, it is. I don't know why I bothered to look.
"Nesi!" Bill roars. Eh, not a roar. It's more like a squeak. He's my shift manager and a rather large man. Imagine any fast-food manager, and that's how he's dressed. His light blue button-down shirt is not big enough for him, so his guts spill out from underneath. His shirt has ketchup, mustard, grease smudges, and who knows what else. Dark blotches stand out more easily on the light blue color. His pants, as every employee wears, hide potential stains that would otherwise be visible.
"What?" I reply coldly.
Bill turns to face me. "Your break is over."
I pull my phone out and check the time. "I still have four minutes. My alarm hasn't even gone off."
Bill pinches his enormous nose. "Whatever. Get back in here in four minutes." He disappears through the door but then pops out not a second later. "How many times have I told you? Put your hair up!"
I turn and throw an arm at him. "I don't work the fries or grill station today!"
"It doesn't matter!" Bill snaps. "Either your hair is up, or you go home." He heads inside, this time not popping back out.
I lean against the wall again. My dark brown hair isn't super long, but I pull out a tie. Who likes following orders? Not me, though that doesn't make me sound tough because now my hair is up in a ponytail. After one last hit of my vape, I shove it into my back pocket and head through the same door that Bill just did.
As I walk through the storage room and onto the floor, I'm reminded there's one difference between me and everyone else who works here: I graduated from college. My major problem is that nobody, company or otherwise, is hiring in my field. I should have thought of that before I pursued my degree, but that doesn't help me now. Degrees are worthless without work prospects and no career opportunities. And with that, I'm stuck accepting whatever meaningless and degrading job comes my way. It's been six months since I graduated, and as the days go by, I get more and more melancholy, with a poor and shitty outlook on the world.
Why anyone eats here is beyond me because this place is disgusting. Minimum wage workers put forth minimum wage effort, and I'm a testament to that fact. Once at the register, I see one of my usual customers sitting in a booth with his small coffee. There is no one else, so I turn around and face the rest of my coworkers. A boy, not even out of high school, drops fries into a deep fryer. Sure, this industry may be a good job market for teenagers, but those with a college degree? I need a break in life, and I don't get a break for more than 15 minutes here.
I have to work. Even if it's here. I have student loans flying out of my ass that pile to my neck in debt. I've searched for a second job, and until I find one, I'm stuck making paltry amounts of money that barely allow me to afford groceries. My bank account has pennies, sometimes a few dollars on good days, and today is not a good day.
Every paycheck either goes toward rent, which I struggle with, or the bare minimum food I need to survive. This can't be the American dream, can it? Full of debt with a shitty job, a rundown apartment, and a bunch of late payment notices coming through the mail. I could commit a crime and go to prison. That may be better since almost anything would be better than this.
I'm snapped out of my little nightmare by a coworker approaching me. Sara is shorter than I am, but I'm tall for a girl. Her long blonde hair shines in the bright lights of the restaurant. Her lips are chapped, but she's been working the grill for her entire shift. At least her eyebrows are still there above her hazel eyes. There are a few freckles on the lower part of her cheeks and nowhere else on her face, which I always found odd. I thought freckles love the bridge of the nose. "Did you talk to your favorite customer?" Sara asks.
I groan. "Funny."
Sara stacks some lids and cups near the fountain drink dispenser. "He comes in for you every day!"
"I doubt that."
Sara walks over and puts her arm around me, then spins me to face the dining room area. Why do our restaurants still have one? She points at the well-groomed man sitting in the corner. A small cup of coffee sits in front of him. His hands encircle it, and he brings it up to his lips. He drinks it with his eyes closed like our coffee is some magic cure, but it's the worst anyone could drink. "See?" Sara grins.
"See what?" I counter, shooting her a face.
"He's always watching you!" Sara yells and pats my back.
Is Sara looking at a completely different guy? Or am I just not seeing it? I shift my gaze toward her as if she might be crazy. "Why are you excited? He's more interested in his shitty cup of coffee than me."
Sara nudges me and walks away. "Whatever you say."
I spin around and watch her return to the grill and flip a burger. Then I turn back to the man again, who now looks at me. So maybe there's some truth in what Sara spits out of her mouth. I give him a little half-smile, and he gives me a little nod. I hope that guy isn't a fucking creep.
A new customer snaps her fingers and gets right in my face, leaning over the counter. "Am I going to get some help?"
I roll my eyes and stare at the woman. Although nothing surprises me, this lady's attire is quite revealing. I don't care how hot or cold it is outside. No one should dress like this unless required for a specific job. I see more skin than her clothing, but she's young and attractive enough to pull it off. "What can I get you?" I ask in my overly obvious polite tone.
"About time, damn." The lady looks up at the menu and stares as if in deep thought, but the only thought she probably has is what clothes to wear tomorrow.
Silence... followed by more silence. I turn and glance up at the menu, thinking it might now be displayed in a foreign language instead of English. Who looks at the menus anymore? Everyone has been here before. "Are you serious?" I ask, staring back at the lady. "You don't know what you want?"
She glances at me and raises an eyebrow. "Sorry, what?"
My hand slams down onto the cold counter, creating an audible smack. "You come in here barking an attitude, and you don't even know what you want?!"
"Excuse me, bitch?!" the woman snaps. She pulls out her phone and points her camera. It doesn't take a genius to figure out she's streaming this to the audience she believes she has. This is my third time today with a phone camera pointed at me. If the camera likes me this much, maybe I need to pursue acting or drama.
The first time, I was too slow to take someone's order because the customer kept changing her mind. The second time, some guy didn't like my cracked lips and told me I was gross for not being able to afford a simple thing like chapstick. And now, this lady thinks she will get a ton of likes and trend on social media. Perhaps I shouldn't make fun of her, considering I'm behind a cash register with a college degree. I might as well scratch out philosophy and put fast food there at this rate.
I rub my temples with my fingers to prevent the incoming headache. "Listen, I don't have time for this. What do you want to order?"
"Let me speak with your manager," the woman demands, staring at her phone screen. The most important thing for this lady isn't ordering food. It's ensuring the phone camera stays steady on the prime-time performer, me.
There are massive footsteps behind me. That can only be my manager, so this lady is about to get her wish. "What did you do this time, Nesi?" Bill asks, a harshness in his tone.
I step away from him so we aren't standing side by side. "I didn't do anything, Bill," I answer calmly.
Bill ignores me and faces the customer. "Is there a problem here?"
"Damn right, there's a problem!" The lady moves the camera from Bill back to me. "This chick was rude and disrespectful for no reason! Is that how you treat your customers?"
Bill shakes his head. "Not at all, ma'am. We value every customer that walks through our door."
I wipe my face with my work shirt and then fold my arms across my chest. My weight shifts to my other foot, itching to kick this lady to show her who she's messing with. That would get me fired but could also be a blessing in disguise. "You better give me some free food for dealing with her," the lady demands with a wave at me.
"Absolutely!" Bill says with enthusiasm. The sad part about that enthusiasm is that he means it. He's excited to help this lady and, according to the job description, I should be, too. But I'll end up in a bottomless pit before that happens. Bill heads over to the fryer and the grill to fetch a large number one combo. That's the same free combo he gave the other two rude customers earlier. I know that the standard business model says the customer is always right...
But whoever came up with that never worked in fast food because sometimes customers need to be punched straight in the fucking face.
I grin at the phone that still records me. "My shift ends in 20 minutes. I'll happily chat with you outside."
The lady looks taken aback. "And what's that supposed to mean?"
I shrug. "Sounds like you're looking for a fight. So if that's what you want, then you got it." I jump up and down like I'm about to throw punches in a boxing ring. "All of this built-up rage from dealing with dumbasses like you gets my blood pumping." I stop jumping and stand there, staring at her with a straight face. "You're down, right?"
The lady turns to Bill, who walks back with her free food. It's a fair bet this lady does this in many restaurants across the city. If this works and she gets free food, why should she stop? Bill sets a bag with a large drink on the counter. "Here's a free combo meal and a drink, and I'm truly sorry for the trouble."
"About time, damn," the lady says while grabbing it in case Bill changes his mind, but he won't.
I step forward. "Are we taking this outside, or what?"
"That's enough, Nesi," Bill says. "Settle down."
"Why don't you just fire her?" the lady asks, sipping whatever drink she got through the straw.
Bill sighs big enough to move his gut up and down beneath his shirt. I have to turn away because I hate seeing that, and his huffs and puffs are so over-the-top. "Help is hard to find these days."
"Right..." The lady snatches the bag that holds her free meal and turns around, stomping away like a child. "Whatever," she mutters.
I turn and look at Bill. "So I can't go fight her?"
He furls his eyebrows and then pinches the bridge of his nose. "No, Nesi... stay at your station and do your damn job."
I roll my eyes. "Fine, but I'm off soon."
Bill grabs the clipboard on the counter and walks toward the back. "Thank God."
"Asshole!" I yell at him.
Bill shrugs me off by waving his clipboard and stopping to talk to the boy who flips the fries.
"Hey, can I order?" a new voice asks. "I'm kind of in a hurry."
I snap around and see another customer who looks like he's in college. I clear my throat. "Hi! Welcome! Can I take your order?" I ask in an enthusiastic tone, just in case Bill meanders back over here to see how I treat this guy. There's a broad smile on my face, bearing my white teeth.
The dude grimaces and runs a hand through his hair. "Yikes..."