Working in restaurant was never my idea of fun. I don't think it was ever to be fun, really.
The restaurant was attched to a big holiday firm, holding a hundred guest rooms, a lounge, and the main lobby, for the reception. There wasn't anything spectacular about it; atmospheric in nature, but dull in comparison to out-side life, the restaurant didn't hold much of an enthusiastic approach to money-making. The floors were linoleum, shaded brown and red, with long, elegant curtains dangling from the window frames.
People were quiet, secluded to their own opinions. It felt as though an inner evil had taken control of their lives, forcing them not to whisper a breath of speech. Their faces looked haggard, fatigued, curling in on themselves as though they were afraid of something terrifying. But there wasn't anything terrifying about the place; it was ordinary and dull. I only took the job because the money was good, but the conditions were far from exceptional. Upon entering the restaurant for the first time, it felt like gliding into some place unknown; like every place masked a danger that hadn't yet been detected by the human eye.
I waited inside the reception area, not daring to say anything. People wandered by me, not acknowledging my presence - which I was fine with. A shiver of paranoia and apprehension sent lightning bolts down my spine. I wanted to turn and flee, but I knew I needed the money. Was that everyone else's excuse for not fleeing when they had the chance? Had their souls been taken from them when the stepped in to the Hell zone? Possibly, but I couldn't be sure. Hastily, I chcked my watch: 10:45am.
"What you wantin'?" said a gruffy, impolite voice from behind me.
Turning, I felt my mouth gaping open. "I'm here to see Helena MacBooth? I'm joining the team."
"Are ye' now?" I didn't much like this grubby little woman. Her hair was messy and unkempt; hurriedly done up into a bun of greasy light brown tangles. Her face was small, narrowed; her lips piercing and scabbed. Her clothes were fashionable, which was surprising; a navy blue blazer fitted onto her slender form, with a white top tucked neatly into matching navy blue trousers. "Did I here ye' right, little one, that you're here to see Helena MacBooth?"
"Yes," I replied flatly. The tension was building; anger and resentment burning mentally from one person to the other. "Sorry if I've done something wrong. Didn't mean to cause any alarm," I added innocently.
The lady laughed hysterically; the noise harsh and full of icy bitterness that rang in my ears as loud as a church bell. "Follow me." I obeyed. The lady led me through the reception, not bothering to introduce certain co-workers or facilities. I nodded my head dully, trying silently to pick out future friends or allies, but detected nothing in return, but quiet tension and furiousness. Surely working conditions couldn't be this bad, I though dismally. If they hated it so much, then why didn't they just walk out? Find a new job? Find a new beginning? There were so many questions that I wanted tp enquire about, but from the clenched hands of the lady in front of me, I decided to keep my gob firmly shut.
The lady led me into a small backroom. It was tight-fitting, damp and cold. There was an exceptionally small table sitting diagonally in the room; a rusting lamp light tucked away in the corner, with a few heaps of paper-work lining the desk in front of me. "Sit!" snapped the woman. I did. "Now, tragically, as circumstances stand out...I'm MacBooth, and unfortunately, I hate people." I didn't know quite what to say to that, so remained silent. "I don't like you very much, putting the point straight. I don't like any of my employers; they're all too good for their own wealth. Stuck-up, dismal, boring. There will be absolutely no communication to fellow co-workers. You work by yourself, and only be poilte to the cutstomers. We want to show them that we're a top quality restaurant prepaired to do anything for them without hassle. Any questions?" I gave and affirmative no.
MacBooth stared at me intently, narrowing her eyes like pincers from a scorpion. "Pay is fortnightly; conditions are what they are, and there is nothing that I can do about it. You'll find your locker down the hall, to your left. You have four days in, two off. Weekends are optional. Now, get to work."
I dutifully resigned and strolled out of the claustrophobic room. Just being out of the Hell hole was refreshing. No wonder people looked dismal and fatigued as they did, I thought sympathetically. The changing rooms weren't all that great either; they were cramped, smelly and dark. The lockers looked battered and bruised from years of torment. Clenching my fist, I pounded my hand on the locker. It creaked open with a silent scream, rendering me slightly fazed from the high-pitched shriek. The waiter coat was horrendously scandalized; ripped and baggy, with dried in bacon stains and tomato droppings. The pockets were ripped, too. Sighing, I put on the coat, turned, and sauntered out into the reception.
The week was boring and uneventful. Hardly anyone acknowledged the other. I couldn't take this working environment; they was so much hostility and tension, it was unhealthy. Many times, Helena MacBooth tried to make my life hell. If she didn't succeed in torturing me, she went onto bully someone else. She seemed to rejoice in the fact that she could belittle her employees; giving her some inner gratification...but at the same time, made a burning, malicious resentment of vengeance swelling deep in my heart. She was a bully, and a vicious one at that. "You starin' at something, lad?" MacBooth boomed? She staggered towards me, a small little smile creeping across her mouth.
"No, Ms," I lied, vile rising in my throat.
"The get back to work!"
As I turned my back, I heard MacBooth snarl in angry contempt. "Stupid bliter. Too good for you own wealth. Just like the rest of you depressed, pathetic, useless workers.
Sighing, I marched back into the reception, tore off my coat and marched out of the Hell zone, feeling the coolness and refreshment and mid-afternoon air sweep into my lungs.