I followed his steps dutifully, and right on the first glass I realized it was not as easy as it looked. The dishcloth was too wet, leaving wet trails spotting the inner surface. So I remedied that with a new, dry cloth I spied sitting inside the top metal shelving above the basin.

I found a rhythm and technique, using the wet cloth to dry most of the water, then the drier one to polish the glass. I felt so accomplished when I had redone the glasses, but before I exited, another bark, this time a female one, hurtled at my back.

“Why are you cleaning the cups?”

I half flinched at her shrill tones, and turned to find her scrutinizing glare from the doorway.

“Uh, the –” I had no idea what Sergeant’s name was, so I just said, “guy told me to.”

“Which guy?”

“Uh, the tall one? With violet eyes.”

She spun and disappeared from the door, and I guessed she must be going after him next. I was right, because even ten yards down I could hear her shrill tones.

“Why did you ask him to wipe the glass? Don’t we have anymore of them?”

I couldn’t catch his answer, and anyway, I didn’t care. I’m just doing what I was told. They could squabble amongst themselves for bad supervision of labour for all I care.

So I straightened my back and gingerly made my way to Sergeant, glad that the woman was gone by that time. I slid a quick gaze to the small, lighted words emblazoned on the left chest of his uniform.

RAY SKI, I read his name.

“Uh, excuse me, Sergeant,” I called anyway, “May I know where ‘station three’ is?”

He was in the middle of distributing sauces into small sauce plates, and stopped briefly to tap his chest.

“Ray is the name. Can’t you read?” he huffed, “And why did you call me Sergeant?”

I dared a cheeky smile.

“Because you said we were about to start war, so....”

“You brat.” He eyeballed me, but didn’t seem particularly mad.

Then he pointed at a sheet of map – again printed on dead tree pulp – that was plastered to the wall.

“That’s the layout of the dining floor.”

I turned to study the diagram, noting the various circles and rectangles labelled with numbers and such, then turned back to him.

Realizing that I hadn’t made a move, he glanced up from his work.

“What?”

In answer, I gave him my best clueless face that said I needed a tour guide. He was the one who told me to ask if I didn’t know, right?

He could barely contain his sigh, checking the digits on his wrist like he was worried about the time. Well, so was I. I’m worried the day couldn’t end fast enough.

“I’ll show you,” he said with resignation that he had to spare a few moments, spinning on his heel.

I hurried after as fast as I could without crashing the glass, out the badly scratched double doors that he held out for me.

The dining floor was as opulent (or gaudy) as they come. Lavish carpets, and gold curtains lining the walls, with gleaming chandeliers and gold brocade blanketing multiple tables. Really, there was too much gold. It hurt my eyes a bit. Someone oughta tell them they could blind someone was who ultra-sensitive to brightness.

Luckily I just needed to allow my eyes to adjust from the dimmer back areas. As I followed him, I scanned across the large restaurant noting the pillars and tables, and in my head, I re-orientated the floorplan to match what I saw.

I was correct when he opened a curved cabinet that was flushed round a large pillar. Setting the tray above the cabinet top, we squatted and emptied it quickly, keeping the glass into the bottom shelf.

Getting up, he tapped a small number plaque wedged at the corner of the cabinet top, then nodded with his chin at the other cabinets scattered across the area. He gave a quick explanation of how the station counters served in their operations and what I was supposed to do when the lunch crowd enters.

For now, I was to continue with glass cleaning till he said otherwise.

I nodded like I was prepared for what was coming. Just menial labour serving dishes and clearing dirty utensils – didn’t seem hard.

We returned to the back area together – he striding ahead on his long legs. I went into the same room, whilst he continued on. Not sure where he was going, as from what I’ve seen so far, these back areas are pretty big, and had cooking zones split into three; one right at the front, one beside this room and one further back where I walked past on entry.

Anyway, I was scarcely concerned with what he needed to do. I focused my efforts on glass cleaning, ferrying cups in a few trips up and down. I could have saved a trip if I carried twelve at a time, but I didn’t want to risk breaking any whilst being over-ambitious.

When I emptied the crate on the metal counter, I eyed the tower next to it, wondering if those were included. I had to stretch my arms straight to reach the bottom edge. Pushing it upwards to test its weight, I was glad that it wasn’t impossibly heavy. Just that my height disadvantage made it tricky to carry the crate down. I tip toed to get a grip on the top edge, gingerly prying it from the grid lock between its base and the lower crate.

Ray must have passed by the open doorway and seen me struggle like I was screaming for help, because I suddenly felt him behind me, voice dusting the top of my navy head.

“Let me help you.”

I stood aside immediately to let him do the heavy grunting and lifting even though I was capable of doing it myself.

As he split the tower in another stack, he muttered disgruntledly under his breath about useless imps and diminutive dwarves. I think he didn’t mean for me to hear them, but I did.

And when he was done, I showed him I did, by looking straight at his pompous face that looked like he expected me to grovel at his feet in thanks.

“Thank you, skyscraper,” I said with a seething smile, wiping off his gloat.

He scowled and stomped out the door, leaving me happily by myself. I continued my task, finishing another two crates when the lady with the shrill voice popped back in and barked at me to stop wiping.

From the look on her face, I knew war has started.