I would like to take some photographs of Mama to them and also see the places she talked about. It may sound crazy, but from hearing her tell stories, I feel like her city is a bit mine too.
I take off my apron and look at the watch on my wrist, wondering if I’ll have time to take a shower before the night shift.
Today I’ll be working until two in the morning, in addition to the shifts I did during the day—one of them to cover for Janice, a colleague who is sick. I’m dead tired, but these Friday tips help me a lot to pay the rent for the little room I’m living in.
This is already my third job since Mama passed—but the first for an establishment, since the others were odd jobs—and the one that’s paid the best so far.
However, I’ve been thinking about applying to work at a famous coffee shop chain that opened positions the other day, because there the shifts are more reasonable and the hourly wage is more than double what I earn here. On the other hand, I’ll lose the tips from Friday and Saturday, so I need to think carefully about what to do.
I decide to go for the shower because I don’t like being in a dress when working at night. There’s live music, alcohol sales are allowed, and some customers tend to getcarried awayaftera few drinks. Besides, it will make my life easier at the end of the shift. I’ll be able to leave quickly.
Of all the thingsMr. Delicioussaid this morning, the most accurate is that this area isn’t safe at night, but I’ve never felt afraid, since it’s only a two-block walk from my apartment.
I’m almost entering the bathroom when I hear the manager’s voice calling me.
“Olívia, I need you here.”
I try to hold back the nausea that hits me every time I have to interact with him. If there’s something I don’t like about the night shift, it’s the fact that I have to be alone with Thomas before the customers arrive. He always makes me uncomfortable.
Thomas is only two years older than me, but at first, he tried to play the protector. When I rebuffed his advances, the apparent interest turned into immediate antipathy. He now picks on everything I do, and after standing serving coffee for eight hours, don’t blame me for not feeling excited to face him.
Before I can return to the main dining area of the restaurant, he’s in front of me. I try to look at him without showing fear, but the truth is, his size, combined with his somewhat bizarre personality, has always made me uneasy.
His advances never made me feel physically threatened, although I had to be very explicit in pushing him away.
He’s a former high school football player and acts as if he’s still on the field, with all the fans adoring him.
When he realized I was immune to his charm, both because I was never attracted to him and because he has a very pregnant wife waiting for him at home, he did everything in his power to badmouth my work.
“Forty-eight dollars and fifteen cents in tips from a single customer? Do you think I’m stupid?” he asks, shaking the restaurant’s tip register notebook, in which employees arerequired to record the tips from each table. Tips here aren’t pooled. Each person gets according to the tables they served.
I look at him, thinking that if I answer his question directly, I’ll be fired on the spot, so I decide to be diplomatic. “That’s the correct amount, sir. I’m sure you’ve already done the math at the cash register and verified that everything is correct.” I chose to call him sir from the start to maintain a clear distance between us.
“I have, but I don’t believe it. I want to know what you offered besides the coffee to receive such a high tip.”
I feel my cheeks heat up because it takes me less than five seconds to understand what he’s insinuating.
He comes closer and invades my personal space. For the first time since I’ve known him, I’m afraid.
Chapter 5
“I’m going to politely ask you to take two steps back.”
“Oh really? And what will you do if I don’t obey you?”
“You’re invading my personal space.”
“As much as the morning client?”
“So you know who left me the tip.”
“Of course I do. I always suspected you were a slut hiding behind a good girl disguise. A man like him doesn’t give money to a nobody like you without a reason.”
My stomach churns as I simultaneously confirm he’s as despicable as I always suspected. “If you’ve seen the footage, you know nothing happened, except for the regular treatment I give to all clients. Now I’m asking you again to step away from me. This violates all labor rules. I feel harassed.”
I hope with all my heart that appealing to the man with the insane look in his eyes and reminding him that our relationship is purely professional will give me enough space to run away, but I need only look into his eyes to understand that it won’t work.
I don’t want to show fear, but the truth is, I’m terrified.
