"Hello! Table for one?" The waitress asked me.
"No thanks, I'm a worker here and I need to speak to the manager."
"Uh, yes, Miss. Hello!" My soon to be my ex-coworker moved on to her next customer. Oh well.
I walked to the back of the restaurant while I watched the groups of happy people socialize. It made me kinda glad that there were so many unfamiliar faces, but for no reason at all.
My eyes skimmed over the crowd and landed on a man with a beginning beard and dirty blonde fringe. The blood running through my veins went cold and my heart started racing.
He wore a hoodie and leaned his tattooed arms against the table whilst his hands looked like they were ready to cover his face any minute. He definitely looked sober, but still as menacing with small gage earrings and tattoos covering his bare legs.
My lungs decided not to cooperate and I started having trouble breathing. I clutched my chest and ran to the bathroom to calm down. As soon as I got inside, I was definitely put of breath and I leaned against the wall.
I closed my eyes and started crying, putting my head in my hands. I couldn't help the river that flowed down my face. My shoulders shuddered with every heave of my chest while weird gasping sounds escaped my mouth.
I heard footsteps heading in my direction and I looked up, seeing a man and a few urinals.
Oh, crap.
"Are you OK?" He asked with his husky voice and a tilt of his head. I shook my head and started to wipe my eyes and get up off of the floor.
Why was I in the men's room? I wasn't looking where I was going, so that explains it. And, oh god, it smells terrible in here.
I pushed my way to the door and ran into a few guys trying to enter the men's bathroom. God, I hope they don't get the wrong idea. What with the guy I left hanging and me crying.
I double checked the restroom sign to make sure, and I entered. It smelled a whole lot better in here than it did over there. Blech.
My mirror self had red, blotchy eyes and had tear stains down my face. Not a pretty sight to see. I feel bad for the poor guy who I intruded on.
With a case of concealer and some time, I decided that I looked somewhat presentable. I gathered my purse and checked that I had my phone with me, and I strode into the hallway to knock on my boss's office door.
"Come in."
I opened the door to see my boss, Mr. Rudule, or as my coworkers nicknamed him Mr. Grouch. But that is to be expected from a man in his late fifties who was a former army man.
"Sir, I'm sorry if this isn't the right time for this, but I need to quit. I'll be moving elsewhere in a few days." I explained.
He looked up at me from under his large graying eyebrows. He had a look of disappointment on his face.
"Is this about those hooligans outside the restaurant at night? For heaven's sake, we've lost four workers already. Counting you, get out." Mr. Rudule wiped his hand over his face and pointed to the door with the other.
"Goodbye, sir." And with that, I closed the door behind me. It was easier than I thought it would be, but I still felt bad about it.
I shot Brooke a text about quitting my job, but I didn't mention the man who attacked me. It wasn't worth it, and the police would figure it out anyway.
This was about one of those times where I wished I had a hoodie. But I had to suck it up and walk out. It shouldn't be too hard since I'm not going to come back.
I ignored the stares of the people who saw my panic attack and kept walking. I almost reached the entrance when I looked over. The blonde man was still sitting in the corner of the restaurant.
For a split second our eyes met and I immediately looked away. He kept watching me on the way out and I quickened my pace. There were too many emotions mixed together for me to call it fear. It was more like anxiety, desperation, fear, and something else I couldn't identify.
My hands pulled the door open and the cool Baltimore air rushed to meet me. I took a breath and instantly felt better. I jogged to my gray car and unlocked it.
The door handle seemed like it wanted me to stay out, so I tried again. Finally, I got the door open and I sighed in relief. I sat inside my car for about five minutes, trying to gather my sanity. Obviously I should try to call the police, but I don't feel like it's worth it.
Shifting my car into drive, I drove away from the restaurant of my nightmares. Their food wasn't even that great anyway. Seems like they need to be part of the show "Kitchen Nightmares" with Gordon Ramsay.
I sighed again, but this time with content. I was finally able to live my own life and stop being babied by my parents. I know I'll miss it when I'm gone.
