And I have more to support my discontent. Because it was obvious the restaurant was severely understaffed, even with five of us extra helpers.

Ray had come out to clear the dishes as well, and gave me a criticising glare over the abysmal stacks of dirty plates and bowls I managed. He on the other hand, easily lifted towering stacks on his tray, biceps bulging and threatening to burst the seams of his sleeves.

He was also unfairly given long legs that covered more ground with each step, so he zipped around with twice the speed, practiced movements quick, and confident. Unlike me, who gingerly scooped up and arranged the soiled stuff on my tray like a timid tortoise. I felt his piercing judgement at my back every time he reappeared on the dining floor, but I didn’t hurry on his account. I had absolutely no desire to have the cost of breakage taken out from my pay check.

However, the endless ferrying of porcelain that weighted like baby asteroids, was getting to me. So much so that I doubted for moments in between, if this type of exhaustion was worth the money.

On top of that, I was getting hot, smelly and sticky – the three things I hated the most. Despite the air-conditioning, my exercise was working up a sweat. And the kitchen was smothered with a barrage of smells that assaulted my nose. The heat from the cooking didn’t all get sucked into the vents either. It spilled from the cooking zone, pouring out the cubby and out the open doorway, loitering around the corridor.

The microscopic vapour clung to me, adding to my discomfort and irritation. And it wasn’t like I could escape the kitchen corridor fast enough. I had to send the dirty dishes to the washing area, where the two Octomus were a blurry furry of twelve tentacle-arms working furiously, except for four. They both had two arms still attached to their game controller, but I couldn’t exactly accuse them of skiving because they had four limbs still hard at work.

I wouldn’t get so calculative, if I didn’t also have to do their work of sorting the dirty dishes into the respective bins. I got scolded the first time when I nonchalantly dumped the whole stack atop the counter. I was magnanimous enough to be pleasant about them so rudely telling me off, when no one bothered to tell me the procedure in the first place. Gradually, as the chore intensified and hastened, I felt myself starting to gripe.

Unfortunately, pressed for time, I couldn’t waste a second educating them on the importance of being responsible on the job. Besides, I didn’t want to waste my kindness on colleagues I wouldn’t see a second day – because I’ve decided I’d rather starve into oblivion then to return here for work.

Until the day was over, I just had to hang on. Which was easier said than done.

On the dining floor, Miss Chilli mouth suddenly barked at me to get two glasses of ice from the bar. Aside from my inward scream of lament on why I was unluckily called upon, I tried to smartly guess if she meant ‘bar’ as the small little partitioned area where the crates of glasses were. Following my hunch, I was relieved the ice box was sitting peacefully on one of the counters, and not wedged somewhere difficult to find. I broke the peace noisily scooping ice and dunking into the tall glasses, then exited to find my route blocked by a cook pushing a trolley stacked with boxes of alien lobsters.

Ray was coming to my direction – or rather, the washing area –juggling a tower of four glasses on each hand. Seeing the cook, he plastered his back to the wall to let the other guy pass. I however, couldn’t wait for the cook to pass, desperately needing to get the two glasses to Chilli before she pisses at me again. So I squeezed in between Ray and the moving trolley, shimmying sideways.

“Fuck! Don’t just squeeze in your big ass! There’s no space!” Ray hissed at my ear as I passed, butt dragging across his front.

I suppose he was pissed because I was forcibly testing his balancing skills. Regardless, I had successfully wedged through, and he didn’t drop the cups, so I didn’t know what the problem was. And besides, I didn’t appreciate getting jumped at for every single little thing that I did.

I felt myself shooting pass the limit of my tolerance, particularly since the topic of ass was a sore spot for me.

Nothing was more important for man-eaters than having a perfect, bubble butt. It was why I revelled in such joy and jumped into bed with the first man who praised me for having such a ‘luscious ass’. The fucker. I should have known my ex was just playing with me and lying to my face because I virtually had no ass to speak of.

“Shut up!” I snared in between clenched teeth, losing my cool, “That’s a fucking joke, because I WISH I had a BIG ASS!”

His jaw dropped, eyes wide in pure shock.

It took another three seconds before I realized my flub.

Because a guy would say that only if they wanted their ass to be eaten. So I had basically just ousted myself.

But oh, what the hell. I calmed my breathing in spite of it. Since it wasn’t like man-eating preferences was anything to jump over in this day and age.

Now, the hot topic of sexual preferences argued about among Galaxians, was inter-species fucking.

Ray proved his open-mindedness by recovering quickly. But then his stunned expressions morphed into one of a devilish smirk that increased his handsomeness by three fold.

I cursed inwardly, willing my pulse to not jump like a rabid bunny at every handsome stud I see. And especially not imagine his dark violets above me in bed, because that smirk told me two things:

A – he’s definitely a man-eater, and B – he’s a player, so unless I wanted to be scalded like what my ex did, I would do better keeping a firm handle on myself.

Really, getting hurt once was more than enough.

Then all of a sudden, like the answer to all my improper prayers through the nine years since I became legal for bed-ritual, he  filled my vision.

That man – in a classic black suit and tie – and then I immediately forgot about the ‘once bitten, twice shy’ thing.

The sight of the man in the jacket – with a fairly pleasant face to boot – perked up my tired, twinky body instantly.

Ray – for all his handsome looks and enviable height and stature, suddenly looked less attractive.

Because a man in a jacket meant three things: a fat pay check, a nice cushy life, and tons of pampering towards their lovers.

I didn’t know if he was into men, but perhaps I could try to convert him. Did I mention I’m still single and unpopped at the age where most adults would have lost their cherries? Not saying I’m desperate to give myself away, but really, this youthful skin isn’t going to remain supple forever.

“Hey, stop ogling, get a move on!”

I scowled at Ray who prodded my back, annoyed that he interrupted my wonderful fantasy.

Still, I found my steps lighter, mood happier. Because at least now I had someone to have unhealthy and lofty aspirations over, which should offer me a good distraction for the rest of my shift.