"Of course," she said, because what else could she say?
She walked to Cabana 4. Mrs. Harding looked up from her magazine, already resigned.
"I'm so sorry," Brittany said quietly. "There's been a scheduling error with the reservations. Would you mind relocating to Cabana 7? We'll comp your drinks for the afternoon."
Mrs. Harding glanced toward the desk, where Mrs. Campbell was gathering her things with an air of vindication. Then she turned back to Brittany.
"It's fine," she said, though it clearly wasn't. "Kids, pack up. We're moving."
The Harding children complained. Mrs. Harding shushed them. Brittany helped carry the sand toys to the new cabana, face burning, stomach in a knot.
When she returned to the front desk, Pam pulled her aside.
"A word?"
They stepped into the small office behind the check-in area. Pam closed the door.
"You handled that well," she said, "but I need you to be more proactive about managing expectations. When a member says they made a specific request, we accommodate. Even if the system doesn't reflect it."
"But the system?—"
"The system isn't the point. Member satisfaction is the point." Pam's voice dropped. "Mrs. Campbell is on the board. Her husband's family has been members here for thirty years. It's not about who's right. It's about who's here."
Brittany nodded. Said the things she was supposed to say. Left the office feeling like she'd swallowed something sharp.
The deck had gone back to normal. Mrs. Campbell had installed herself in Cabana 4, drink in hand, triumphant. The Hardings were in Cabana 7, their children splashing in the shallow end of the pool.
Brittany returned to her station. Pulled up the tablet. Checked in the next member with a brightness she didn't feel.
At three o'clock, she took her break.
The staff break area was a small patio behind the main building, hidden from member view by a hedge and a fence. A few plastic chairs, a table with an ashtray nobody used anymore, a view of the service entrance and the dumpsters.
Brittany sat down and put her head in her hands.
"Rough day?"
She looked up. Ryan had appeared with two glasses of water, condensation beading on the sides. He handed her one and dropped into the chair across from her.
"You could say that."
"The Campbell thing?" He shook his head. "I watched the whole exchange. You were way more professional than she deserved."
"Didn't help much."
"It never does." He leaned back in his chair, stretching his legs out.
"How do you deal with it?" Brittany asked, turning the glass in her hands.
"Remind myself it's temporary. They don't actually know me, so what they think doesn't mean anything." He took a sip of water. "And I focus on what I'm working toward. What this is all leading to."
"What's that?"
"College. Environmental engineering, maybe. Something that keeps me near the water but isn't about serving drinks to people who don't see me."
Brittany looked at him differently then. She'd assumed he was just another summer worker, putting in hours, killing time. She was revising that.
"That sounds like a real plan."
