4bidden

7. Whiplash

Perfect is overrated, I think anyone who isn't delusional would understand this. So why is my new boss trying to teach me how to do my job perfectly? It's not only getting on my nerves, but it's super cringe. But hey, I guess the saying "fake it til you make it" will become my new best friend!

Placing an application at a nearby diner was my idea. I needed extra cash and some time to keep busy. After finally admitting to my past trauma and facing it head-on, I realized I had to do something for myself and be a little independent for once in my life. Doing this will give me more control over myself and a part of me hopes this would make my family proud.

Would my dad think I was more responsible now? Would my mom tell me how grown up I am? I don't know, and I'll never know. They're gone. But I know I'm happy about this accomplishment, and I think some time out of the house is just what I need to clear my head. I've also started journaling my feelings and emotions, more specifically to cope with the passing of my family in a private but therapeutic way. That's at least something decent I got out of my three sessions in therapy before I threw a hissy fit and refused to go back, of course.

The job isn't too hard and it's fairly decent when it comes to the pay and tips. Plus, the hours are flexible. I really couldn't ask for anything more. During the first few weeks, I shadowed someone and learned the ropes, but I've been on my own for two weeks now, and it isn't half bad! Taking orders and putting food on the table is super simple. Many of the customers are regulars, so it's always good to be greeted with a smiling face.

The lunch rush just cooled down when I started wiping a dried ketchup stain from table five. That's when the door chimes. I sneak a glance at our new customer and my jaw drops to the floor.

Oh good Lord, you must be joking. Of all places, why here?

Her heels obnoxiously click louder and louder, a steady drum echoing closer. She maneuvers around wooden chairs that occupy her space like worthless peasants. Her sunglasses are tinted pink, hiding her chilling Medusa eyes. Everything about her screams "look at me, I'm rich and want attention!" But she won't get to me, I know her little games. The Ice Queen will not freeze me this time.

I center all my attention back on cleaning the table. My brows crease together in forced concentration. I keep my head down and think of anything but her. Suddenly, a silhouette crosses my peripheral vision, which is then followed by an exaggerated gasp.

And so the game begins. "Oh. My. Gosh! Prim? I didn't know you worked here. I didn't even know you had a job at all. What a small world," Priscilla's glossy lips pucker and my teeth grind together.

Be nice, you're at work. "Yes, I do. I just got the job. I wanted to keep busy. Are you here to eat?" I hope to God no!

"Hmm, I'm not sure, I was just in the neighborhood and wanted to stop by," her glance wavers to get a better picture of the place. With her sunglasses now resting on her head, her eyes roam the space. The way they scrunch up and her eyebrows crease, I can tell she's not impressed.

She was not just in the neighborhood. Something's up, I can sense it! "You know we have some great burgers. And grilled cheese. Also, our fries are to die for," I wipe down the table, grinning widely. I'm being polite, of course.

"Well it just so happens I don't eat gluten anymore or carbs. New diet." She twirls her strawberry blonde hair around her manicured fingers. My grin widens. Of course, she'd say something stupid like that. This means she has no means to be here and will make her way to the exit!

"Oh darn, what a shame," sarcasm slides off my tongue, but with her attention centered on her perfect nails, there's no evidence to prove she's caught on. I scurry to table three, where a large party left an equally large mess. My eyes roll impatiently. Pricilla comes up from behind me, persistent to continue our chat.