Fixing The Devil

The First Day Might Be The Last

After hours of no success in finding a job. I resorted to being a costumer instead, to get rid of my weariness. So, I opened the door to La Café. It was too crowded. Two waiters were scurrying off like rats from one table to another. And when I offer to help in return of a few dollars, they say they don't need unqualified juvenile amateurs. And when I beg to help in return of even fewer dollars, they kick me out -even as a costumer!
I mean, who the heck needs a degree for waitressing or doing laundry or piling files!?
I shook my head, not even bothering to check for a job as I made my way to the only empty booth which was in the farthest end of the place next to the restrooms. I didn't have any money so I didn't order anything. I filled a polystyrene cup with water from my flask, before hiding it back in my duffle bag, and pretended to drink coffee as I worked on my laptop. I knew I was wasting their booths when a few people came, saw that the place was full, and went away, but I couldn't care less.
About an hour later the people were slowly dispersing but I was too engrossed in my work to really notice. Luckily, nobody really noticed me or my water-filled coffee which was almost empty by now.
"Such carelessness can not be accepted here Mr Jordan!" A loud commanding voice whisper-shouted from the kitchen to my left.
"It won't happen again-" A voice completely opposite from the previous one replied.
"I'll make sure it won't." Footsteps were heard retreating.
I could hear the conversation easily from where I was seated, not that I was much interested. So, I tuned them out and focused on my work.
The cafe was completely empty when I realized. Even the Closed sign was stuck up. I dumped the empty polysterene cup in the dustbin and walked out of the glass doors. I almost turned round the corner when something caught my attention, completely and utterly.
A sign that read "IN NEED OF STAFF" in bold Arial font, on the glass window of the cafe.
The first two words were enough to make me rush back in, ignoring the "Closed" sign.
"Excuse me!" I knocked the counter with balled fists. Nobody was there so I rose my voice.
A young man came out of the kitchen door. "Sorry ma'am but we're closed for the night."
"N-no. I'm here to a-apply for the job." I fixed my bag on my shoulder as I gestured to the window holding the sign. He followed my gaze as recognition hit him. He made a short 'Ah' sound before eyeing me down.
"Are you fast?"
"Won a me-medal in 5th grade for f-fastest runner. Also, raced against my dog-"
He cut me off short. "I meant, are you fast in work?"
"Yes!" I exclaimed loudly before adding more calmly, "I m-mean, yes. D-definitely."
"I assume you want a part-time job?"
I nodded.
"Fine. You start from tomorrow. 8 to 11." He looked at his watch and hurried off.
A grin found its way on my face as I danced my way out of the place.
Waitressing? How hard can it be? It's just a piece of cake.
******
Remember what I said about waitressing being a piece of cake. Its just that I don't know the first thing about cakes. I don't even like cakes.
"We ask for devotion of time and energy! We ask for care and loyalty! If you can't care genuinely, force a damn smile! If you want to work here..."
I gulped. I felt shrunken as I stared down at his small yet fuming figure. He was easily a a foot smaller than me. But his fury was immense and undoubtedly intense. I felt as though I was an ant threatened to be stomped by a furious bald giant. He pointed his forefinger at me and chided on while I shrunk lower and lower in fear. The guy from yesterday was giving me a sorry look while the rest of the staff snickered and sympathized.
How was I supposed to force a smile while being scolded on the first day of work? I was on the verge of tears! God damn it!
The bald, scary man, who I'm assuming is the boss here, didn't seem to notice my watery eyes or their snickers. He was too busy unleashing his wrath onto me. If it weren't for the situation I would've pulled his cheeks and awed at him. I mean, the man looked so chubby and small. The temptation to pull his cheeks was hard to resist. But as I was not in a suitable position to do that, I just had to bear his unending rage and keep the tears from spilling. The guy could make a wrestler pee his tights.
"30 minutes, Miss Whoever-you-are. You are half an hour late!" He made it sound as though I was in a court as a suspect. "Such unpunctuality can not be tolera-"
He was cut off by the sound of the bell ringing, indicating the arrival of new costumers.
The bell, to me, sounded more like a siren of rescue.
Bless you dear costum-
I stopped mid-thought as my eyes fixed on him. A guy wearing jeans and a turtle neck came in with a guy wearing a leather jacket, black jeans, and shades on. My eyes were fixed on the guy with the shades on. He held an unreadable expression, or no expression at all. Typical Walt Ryker.
My gaze was interrupted by a small bald head popping in between. I looked down to the guy standing on his tiptoes to reach up to me.
"Get to work now. Or-"
I didn't let him finish as I ran in full speed to the back of the kitchen.
I could faintly here an Irish accent say, "She was right about being fast. Just needs to work on the directions."
"Again, Miss- what's your name?" The little bald bulldozer came in finding me hidden behind the counter.
"Valerie." I whispered trying to shush him at the same time.
"What are you-? Don't answer." He shook his head. "I want you out there now."
He had a strange ability to make the word now sound as a "if you're even one second late there'll be a replay of Hiroshima and Nagasaki" which is probably why I was immediately walking out of the kitchen with trembling legs.
The Irish man was already waitering another costumer that I hadn't seen coming in. While the turtle neck and Walt were conversing, more like passing two words each.
"C-can I t-take your or-oh God!" My breath hitched as he turned his head to look at me. He stared at me with his eyebrows knitted as he tried recollecting his memories.
Run before he remembers! A voice, much like my own, shouted in my head.
Out of the corner of my eye I could see a small bald head with beetle eyes staring surreptitiously at me and out of fear, my feet decided to betray me me locked all ways of escape. Traitors!
"Well hello there Marjory." A distant familiar voice invaded my thoughts. It was Walt.
A smirk made its way through his face as he stared at my apron, which, mind you, was not mine but belonged to someone who had probably never heard of detergent.
"It's Valerie. And c-can I please take your order?" I cleared my throat. Relieved that he didn't remember. But upon hearing my name recognition hit him. Shoot! Shouldn't have said that!
"One Latte please." The turtle neck spoke.
I tore my gaze away from Walt and looked at him, on a closer look he looked rather handsome. He had two dimples forming when he smiled. He had dirty blonde hair falling over his forehead in unruly waves and scorching blue eyes. But by a slight margin, not as good-looking as the Greek statue sitting in front of him.
I tore my gaze away from him and rose an eyebrow at Walt questioningly.
He ignored my inquiry and asked instead. "I wonder what brought the millionaire's daughter to work in such a rusty coffee shop?"
I stiffened at his directness. The turtle neck's head jerked towards me in disbelief and out of the corner of my eye, I checked to see if my employer had heard this but from his devious expression that sent fear as wave signals, I doubt he did.
"I d-doubt it should be rusty if y-you're exceeding the honor of s-sitting here." His expression didn't waver. "And, f-for a person such as you, you seem to be rather behind in the n-news."
This took out an expression from him. A confused one,might I add. But he still didn't speak, as if waiting for me to fulfill him with more information.
"So let m-me guess," I eyed his cigarette. "T-the usual, is it? I'll let Paul know."
My stuttering betraying all signs of confidence that I had mustered into those sentences.
I turned away, exhaled a deep breath, and rushed away as fast as my feet could take me. Honestly, I had no idea what his usual is or who the dickens Paul is or if Walt has ever even been here before. Shoot!

By now, the place was almost half full. I was walking back with two coffees, a latte and an espresso. Turns out Walt comes here every week day and luckily, the Irish dude remembered his usual. Yay! I still have a little luck left
Crash!
-or not.
Fell down the latte. Out of horror, even the espresso slipped my hand and followed the latte to kiss the earth. I didn't dare look up but I could feel everyone's gaze on me. I was in a statue mode with my eyes tightly closed, afraid to face humiliation and wrath but most of all, the slipping reality. There goes my job, there goes my chance.
No no no no no no no... I kept chanting in my head
"What the heck?!" I jumped at the sudden voice. Unfortunately, the raging expression of my employer wasn't the only thing I had to face because my feet slipped on the still wet floor and bam! I fell down straight on my bum. Ow.
This is not happening!
5 minutes of humiliation later
"You!" The bald scary man popped up again, standing on his tiptoes. "You're fired!"
From the look in his eyes I could tell that he wanted to say a lot more, maybe a few profanities and a lot of ill-wishing. But he was probably too blinded by rage to find the right words. He was like a bantam, even as aggressive as a bantam.
"Wha-what?! No! You can't do that!" I let out.
"Yes I can, miss whatever-the-heck-your-name-is! And I am!"
"But I... I just j-joined and please-" this time my voice came out almost begging.
I was cut off by a curt voice of none other than Walt. "Excus- Never mind."
And he walked back away for a second before, second guessing, I suppose. But then he turned back around and walked towards us. What was up with him?
"It was actually my fault. I was the one who stuck out my foot involuntarily thus causing her to stumble and fall. You can not fire her for something she didn't do."
I was dumbfounded to put it easily. Walt Ryker does not stand up for someone, and when he does, it is not good. It's not good for the person he is standing against, and even worse for the person he's defending.