Laine Transformation

Chapter One

My father's displeased voice rings in my head telling me how if I take a bar job now, I'll never leave and college would be a wasted fortune. College has been shoved down my throat my whole life as the only option to succeed, but the idea of paying for it fell solely on me. I know my father always means well as a parent, but the reality of being able to afford anything living in a city this expensive while in school ruled out a lot of other options for alternative jobs. The act of serving drinks to tables at a bar doesn't bother me, the people watching kind of interests me. I picture myself being a fly on a wall and taking in other people's good times. If anything at all, it was inspiring.

The door I pull open sticks from old, weathered thick paint so I tug it with all my force nearly plummeting toward the ground the day I walk in to interview. The winter air rushes inside of the bar that has yet to open. The air encompasses old, musty tones like history was guaranteed in these walls.

I shake off bits of the sidewalk snow and look around in an attempt to try to speak to someone. I can hear footsteps from afar but there's no one in the dim light establishment.

"Hello?" I holler out towards a long hallway. For a moment I take in the atmosphere surrounding me. The building is old judging by the 70's style dark chocolate stained bar and maroon colored walls that have obvious patch work all throughout them shining through the paint . There was about ten booths and ten tables in close proximity to the bar. The light fixtures boldly hang with scratched brass, aged poorly with time.

The same foot steps get louder and closer while I stand in the middle of the room awkwardly in silence. With the noise follows a middle aged man with dirty blonde, stick straight hair framing his face. I quickly pull my hand out and introduce myself while quickly eying the man up attempting not to be obvious. He greets me and introduces himself as John. The way he's wearing his button up black blouse and hip hugging black jeans over even darker boots feels like he was picked out of a music video from 2001 and placed into the future of 2014.

The man's cradling a box of glass cups to the bar while he starts to rattle off questions to test my common sense, mostly about customer service and math. When he's done putting the cups away he examines me for a second like he's critiquing my every move.

"Here's the million dollar question that will get you the job, girl." His content, yet firm stance is hunched over the bar watching my every reaction now, it's unsettling in a way but I can tell he has a unique spirit. He is is smooth and charismatic. "If you had two tables come in at the same time; one's a rich family who tells you they plan on spending a lot of money tonight; the other are loyal customers you know will come back countless times. You take both the orders in a timely manner. Whose drinks do you deliver first?"

I pause for a moment knowing the answer was logical but was almost a trick. Like a light bulb blinking on in my head I begin lean in with some confidence knowing I'd found a means to an answer. "What did they order?" I follow up with a smirk. I can tell he's pleased and curious despite the fact that his face hasn't moved much.

"Table one gets two gin martinis, a margarita, and a manhattan. Table two gets three Amber Ales and a water." He replies smitten. I lean back and continue to smirk at him with an odd found sense of confidence. I'd never worked at a bar before but I was smart enough to know from years of sitting at one with my parents.

"Ring in table two's drinks first, then table one. Table two's drinks take thirty seconds while table one's take a few minutes. People drink beer faster, the bar will make more money if they have more opportunities to order. Table one will probably sip on their drinks and won't need another round for a while, in theory." When my lips finally close John's staring with me replaying the response until finally he lets out a hearty, slow laugh.