Amelia Heidari knows her last two years at the University of Toronto matter more than anything shes done before. Her goals for the year include: raising her 3.8 GPA, securing a med-related internship, making her Middle Eastern parents proud, and bec...
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I'm never covering someones shift again.
Serving 30 customers in the last hour may have been good for Rebels business but it sure wasn't good for my aching legs and pounding headache. Working back-to-back shifts at the cafe and boxing club upstairs wasn't how I planned on spending my Friday night but after Aaron, the elderly cafe manager, called with the desperation clear in his voice, I felt obligated to fill in for one of the other trainers and couldn't say no.
At the time, I wasn't thinking about being on my feet for 6 hours straight. Instead, I was thinking of the fat paycheck I'd receive at the end of the month and how I could use it towards textbooks and next months rent.
It didn't sound too bad at the time but now, 5 and a half hours later, I was regretting my decision. My legs were ready to give out, the bright artificial lighting and endless streams of conversation were doing nothing to ease the throbbing inside my skull. Add in the smell of freshly brewed coffee, various pastries, and the lemon loaf Johnny placed beside me, I was overstimulated and needed to get out of here before my headache turned into a full-blown migraine.
"Who the fuck is trying to get coffee at 8:40pm on a Friday night?" Johnny hissed beside me after pulling off the oven mitts and glancing down at his Casio watch.
Clearly I wasn't the only one done with this shift, "it feels like everyone in downtown Toronto was here today." Before continuing, I reached over for the bread knife and started cutting the slightly cooled loaf between us. "I don't blame them, they probably wanted to enjoy their last breath of freedom before the summers over. I just wish they'd talk a little quieter, my heads pounding and I don't know how much longer I can take before I'm crying in the break room."
"We have," flicking his wrist up to check the time again, "10 minutes before we're done for the day, if you want, you can go to the back and start getting ready to leave? I can man the counter while you're gone." Looking away from him to scan the remaining customers, I found that only a handful remained. Deciding 10 minutes wouldn't kill me, I shook my head before placing the lemon loaf slices in the glass display and addressing him.
"Thanks for offering but I think I'll be okay," turning to place the knife in our 'dirty dish' bin, I asked if he still wanted a ride home after work.
"Yeah, please, if you have the time," he looked away sheepishly while bringing his muscular tattoo clad arm up to rub the back of his neck. The action made the veins on his triceps pop, instantly catching my attention.
Before this summer, I didn't expect to see Johnny Leng outside of the Goldring Centre court and I sure as hell didn't expect to be working with him. Walking into work to find the hot as fuck, 6'5 Vietnamese basketball player shirtless and dripping in sweat, with only a pair of 'Rebel' employee shorts hanging low on his hips, was a pleasant surprise. His tattoos were on full display and my eyes were fucking blessed. So when he looked down at me and smiled? I had to quickly remind myself where we were and that having sex on the job, or with coworkers, was unprofessional.
