You are fired
VALERIE’S POV
"Don't be shocked, my dear," she said calmly, "I'm offering to pay this much because I know my son isn't the easiest task; he can be arrogant and cold at times, but beneath that exterior, he has a kind soul—I assure you."
"But, ma'am, how can you be certain that I can manage all this? Especially since you've only just met me."
"I observed how you handled that difficult man over there with such patience. That's essentially what you would need to handle my son."
"Patience?" I echoed.
"Yes, dear, patience." She slid a check for ten thousand dollars across the table, along with her address and phone number. "Call me once you've made up your mind," she instructed, standing to leave.
I discreetly tucked the check under my uniform, unwilling to risk losing it like so many other opportunities before.
As I returned to my duties, I couldn't shake off the surreal nature of our encounter.
Should I consider her proposal? After all, I reckon dealing with difficult people is part of my daily routine; her son could be no different, right?
I mulled over the offer for days, leaving the check untouched, skepticism holding me back from believing its legitimacy.
But then again, what if it's a trap? Falling for it could result in an insurmountable debt.
(Ding)
That must be my landlord, his fifth message this week. I've been ignoring them, despite having a check at home that could cover half my rent. The fear of cashing it kept me paralyzed.
A month has passed since the woman’s visit—whose name I never learned—and I've been getting by with my jobs.
However, something felt peculiar at the bar. Each night, the man who previously gave Mrs. Lucy a bundle of cash returned, performing the same ritual. He seemed captivated as he watched me dance, swaying rhythmically to the music. Yet, curiously, he never ordered anything—he was there merely to watch me.
After my dance, I approached Mrs. Lucy for my payment, which was disappointingly meager due to her greed.
That night, after changing out of my work attire and shedding my disguise, I boarded the bus home. On the way out, I accidentally bumped into someone.
"Hey, watch it!" a voice snapped.
I looked up to see the man from the club—the one whose gaze had lingered on me throughout my performance.
"I'm really sorry," I apologized.
"Sorry for yourself," he retorted before striding to his lavish car, attended by escorts. He dismissed me with a disdainful glance, making me feel small and unworthy.
The next day, as I tended to customers at the restaurant, I noticed the familiar face of my secret admirer from the club.
What brought him here? I hoped another server would cater to him, but Mr. Felix signaled for me to take his order.
Approaching his table with trepidation, I prayed he wouldn't recognize me.
"Good day, sir. Welcome to Felix's Restaurant. How may I assist you today?"
He didn't look up from his phone until he heard my voice. When he did, recognition flashed in his eyes.
"You again?"
"Hello," I responded with an awkward smile.
"Are you stalking me now?" he accused.
"No, sir, I actually work here," I explained.
"Oh," he mumbled, finally noticing my uniform.
"If that's the case, then bring me some mashed potatoes and teriyaki chicken."
"Sure thing," I confirmed, and soon returned with his meal. "Would you care for anything else?"
"A pack of juice," he requested.
I dashed to the storeroom, but before I could return, Mr. Felix's booming voice called out.
"Valerie!"
His tone spelled trouble. Clutching the juice, I hurried to confront him.
"What is it, sir?"
"You clumsy idiot! How did strands of hair end up in the customer's food?"
Confused, I protested, "Hair? But there was none when—"
"Are you accusing me of lying? You're fired! And thanks to your blunder, no pay for you today."
I dropped to my knees, pleading, "Please, sir, I need this job. It's all I have."
But it was no use. In despair, I ran outside, hoping to reason with the wealthy patron. To no avail—he commanded his entourage to dismiss me, and they followed his orders without hesitation.
Left on the street, jobless and demoralized, I couldn't help but wonder: Why do the affluent seem eager to oppress those less fortunate? Is it a sin to be born into a world of struggle?
And now, because of one man's whim, I was thrust back into the relentless fight for survival.