The harsh buzz of the fluorescent lights overhead was like a low, relentless drone, pressing against my temples and refusing to let up. Every clang of dishes, every sharp beep of the cash register, felt like a jolt to my already weary nerves. It was past ten-thirty at night, and instead of the quiet I desperately craved, the café was a cacophony that rattled through the cramped space.
I wiped my damp palms on the faded apron wrapped around my waist, hoping to find some relief, but the sticky scent of spilled coffee and cleaning spray lingered in the air, clinging to my skin. The espresso machine hissed like a restless beast, steaming and sputtering as orders piled up relentlessly. A few customers sat stubbornly, whispering in low voices that somehow added to the background noise instead of calming it.
My feet throbbed from standing all day, knees aching with every step. My shoulders sagged under the weight of exhaustion. Yet there was no break coming. The manager's voice crackled sharply through the intercom, "Ermelinda, you're on register next."
I forced a tired smile and muttered under my breath, "Great. Just what I needed."
As I moved to the register, a regular customer, Mr. Lopez, smiled and said, "Long night, Ermelinda?"
I nodded, trying to sound cheerful, "Yeah, just trying to get through it."
Behind the counter, the barista sighed, "At least the worst is almost over."
I glanced at the clock again. "If only," I muttered, trying to ignore the pounding in my head. The noise, the endless tasks—it all felt like it would never stop. But I clenched my jaw. "One more hour. Then I'm done." I said to myself, trying to give myself the strength to keep moving, but my body was 2 seconds from going numb.