***
“Get your ass over here!” Why are men always yelling? I feel like it’s to compensate for their small dicks.
I make my way out of the break room and go into the kitchen to look for my boss. When I spot him, I shake my head.
He is pissed.
The moment I’m three feet away from him, he starts yelling. Again.
Stay calm, Lana.
“Lana, I told you to take a break for only fifteen minutes. You have been there for God knows how long!” My boss’s ears are red now, and I swear I can see droplets of sweat running from his receding hairline down to his nose.
Yuck.
“Boss,” I start calmly. “I have only been gone for, like, seven minutes.” He slams his hand on the kitchen table, making the nearby staff go quiet.
“I don’t fucking care! Go into the dining room and serve some customers. Do you think that food will magically appear on people’s tables?” His chest rises and falls with anger. Does this asshole think his diner is a five-star restaurant? It’s shitty at best.
But I still need this job.
“Okay.” I feel like a complete tool for agreeing to his ridiculous demands and threatening tone. Before I open the door of the kitchen to go into the dining room, my dick-ass boss calls out to me again.
“Go to Nenad and serve him first. He is asking for you.” Suppose my night couldn’t get any better. First, I collapse onto my floor, then my boss yells at me, and now I have to serve food and drinks to a pervy, misogynistic pig.
Stay calm, Lana.
I don’t even turn around, doing what I am told. I walk up to Nenad and plaster on a smile.
“What can I get you?” I ask him. The way his eyes sweep over my entire body is unsettling. Calling him a pig is actually an insult to pigs.
“A hamburger, extra fries, and a large orange soda. Make it quick, sweetheart.” I wouldsweethearthis ass if he didn’t give good tips.
“Coming right up.” Before I leave, he whistles at me. Heactuallywhistles at me. I look around the diner, and I notice the other customers don’t give a shit. Everybody is so engrossed in their phones or shallow conversations.
Humanity is a fucking joke.
I give his order to the cooks, and they start preparing this fucker’s hamburger. I go around and ask other customers what they want. Even though this isn’t my dream job, not in the slightest, I’m good at it. I always plaster on a smile whichencourages people to leave a tip. While it’s not customary in Bosnia to give a tip like in the US, it’s nice when people do.
After a couple of hours, I ask my dick-ass boss if I can go on my second break, and he begrudgingly agrees. I go to the break room, and I’m finally alone. I take my phone out and see that I have an unread message.
I open it, and my heart starts pounding.
It’s from my mystery texter.
Fuck.
With shaky hands, I open the text, and I bite my lip.
Why are you entertaining that asshole customer who constantly puts you down?
This time, I don’t let myself think for too long and type out a message. I send the message before I can give it a second thought.
Which is so unlike me. Color me intrigued, I guess.
Who is this?
After thirty seconds, I get a reply back.
