Chapter 3 - Kira
it is only a word, this
"IDIOT"
i am too powerful to be put in a
GENERALIZATION
My feet haven't been this sore since The Day, but we don't talk about that.
It's hard work, being a waitress in Haarley's Diner and Cafe. Kind of underrated, if you think about it, the whole waitress thing. I think the world doesn't understand how hard it is to deal with insufferable customers who always think they're right (that is a lie, by the way. The whole the customer is right thing), the always smiling and walking is huge high heels, having debauchees stare at you through your uniform and of course, the terrible pay.
"Could you lock up for me, doll?" The stridulous voice of my co-worker, Adrienne squawked over the calm 50s music playing in the background. She was a twiggy woman, short without her high heels, and about as fake as a Barbie doll. "I've got a date!"
I scoffed under my breath. I think you mean a one night stand.
"Yeah, sure." Adrienne squealed and skipped out the front door, looking like an oversized pageant girl. I didn't mind really, it was getting late and the place was nearly empty. The only customers we had was an old man on his Macbook and a middle aged woman, who was most likely a prostitute.
He blew all his money on material items and she is trying to get more money for drugs.
I did this a lot, make assumptions from the slightest clues. It was a bad habit I had, and it made me feel guilty. Discrimination and prejudice whatnot.
~~~
It took another hour for Mr. Macbook to leave and Ms. prostitute to get picked up. Outside the diner windows, the city lights stained the sky a hazy white. The sky was a dark indigo, and the passersby had already left for their houses.
I glanced at the electronic wall clock and sighed. 10:47 PM
The numbers glared at me, and it took me awhile to realize I worked 190 minutes overtime. I better get paid good for this.
My feet moved automatically, as they usually did now. I felt like a zombie, working upon muscle memory and not by will. It felt like the world was a huge grey haze, with air of molasses that stuck to me and tried to yank me down. That is, if there was anyplace lower than this.
I worked 8 hours a day, sometimes more. My foster parents took me out of school a few years back, and I haven't brought myself to enrolling again. Not with all the work I'm doing. So I got into online classes and late nights ever since.
I never imagined my 17th year would be like this. I always wanted, hoped, wished to be the 'Little Miss Popular' , smart and lovable, going out every night, all night. But ever since the Day, I haven't wished for anything but to feel alive again.
I didn't live far away from work, only a 15 minute walk really, nothing to waste gas for. I walked most of the time, unless I was particularly tired and such.
