class of 2013 ✓

11 | sunk cost fallacy

"Hey Zuri," I greet with droopy eyelids, smoothing the pleats on my skirt, "Glad to see you liked the food here enough to come back."

The girl in question, standing near the double glass doors, instantly whips around, the glow of the neon signs from outside lighting up her face in a palette of blues and reds. This time, she's here by herself, still dressed in her uniform blouse and plaid skirt, suggesting she probably just got out of school. At the mention of her name, she grins, tucking a dark strand of hair behind her ear.

"Of course. It helps that the staff here is so nice," she says, taking out her phone from her trench coat pocket and showing me the screen to confirm that she is indeed the owner of this takeout order.

"Cha siu and bok choy combo meal," I read out the order, and pull the corresponding takeout box from the counter, "nice choice."

"Yeah. Blaise used to order something similar when we went on dates."

"Oh." I frown, confused. "Used to?"

"Yeah, we broke up ages ago," she tells me, untying the plastic bag, likely making sure all the plastic utensils and fortune cookies are inside.

"And it's not awkward now you're still friends?"

"Nope," she answers, popping the p. "It's only awkward if you make it awkward. Anyways, although it's always a pleasure talking to you, I gotta head out. Need to pick up my mom from work. She will literally chew my head off if I'm late."

"Alright see ya," I call, watching her give me one final wave before she's thrust back into the chilly night air.

For the remainder of my shift, I'm pretty busy, jumping from table to table trying desperately to memorize their orders and tend to the customer's needs. That, combined with cleaning when I have time to breathe, is enough to tire me for weeks.

Trying my best to stay concentrated I dart from table to table with my arms securely holding the silver platters with their orders on top. Guess I must've been doing an okay job, because the tips were quite generous, though Nea and I usually leave those to the Wongs anyways. Gradually, the customers start funneling out at a faster rate than they are coming in, and the ones that remain inside are familiar faces, most of which I have their usual orders memorized, so it's smooth sailing from there on out.

"Remi you forgot to collect the dishes from table 4!" Nea scolds me, collecting the silverware and porcelain cups into a grey tub. Shaking her head in disapproval, she removes the tables cloth with one hand, stuffing it into her apron pocket.

"Sorry, sorry," I mutter, awkwardly trying to navigate around a cart filled to the brim with more dishes and between two tables that are way too close together. "Slipped my mind. Won't happen again."

"Damn right it won't," she teases, handing me the heavy tub, which I stack on top of the cart. Carefully, I maneuver the cart around the furniture and into the kitchen where Ms. Wong has her arms elbow deep into the water in the sink.

"More?" she groans, eyeing the cart with a disgusted expression.

At her blunt honesty, I smile. I don't blame her. Doing the dishes is by far the messiest task, and she's a real trooper for volunteering to do them. That, and the fact that she's undoubtedly the fastest dishwasher I've ever seen. Her decades of experience really shine through.

"Unfortunately. It's been kind of busy. Nea's been flooded with take-out orders. It's slowing down now, and I suspect that it'll be dead until we close."

"You girls are really holding it down alone," she says with a smile. Using the handheld faucet, she sprays all the food grime off the metal pans. "Tell Nea that you guys are both going on break. We got it from here."