“Well, you’re not my vegetable order,” the man in the apron was still smiling. “Sorry, we’re not open yet. We’ll be ready for noon if you can come back?”

Inho beamed his brightest customer service smile, “No, I’m not here to eat.”

One of the man’s thick eyebrows quirked upwards, and he frowned.

“I saw the sign,” Inho gestured backwards with his thumb. “And, I’m looking for a job. I’ve served before. I have a lot of experience.”

The man didn’t answer right away. He crossed his arms before turning to look at the other staff. His eyes locked with a Filipina woman in her late twenties who shot him a meaningful look. The man frowned further. Inho wasn’t sure what was going on, but something was happening in the loaded looks crossing the table. A grimace flashed over the man’s face, before being quickly replaced with a warm grin. He stepped forward, hand outstretched to shake Inho’s. His voice was deep, steady, and held barely a hint of hesitation.

“Well it’s good timing then. Someone just quit, and we’re short on servers. Can you start today, and we’ll see how you fit?”

After Inho had assured the restaurant manager, Nathan, of his knowledge of serving, and signed off on some rushed paperwork, the other server, Jasmine, gave him a tour and a whirlwind of introductions. He shook lots of hands and remembered zero names. The restaurant served classic Italian dishes, expensive wines, and elaborate cocktails. Everything was made in-house and  racks of bright yellow noodles hung to dry in the kitchen as the staff bustled about.

Inho was elated. Not only did he find a job on his first try, according to Jasmine’s narration on the tour, the tips were decent. Apparently, he would get a free meal each shift too. Jasmine reminded him of his older sister back home, witty and friendly, but with a tough aura, so you knew instinctively not to cross her.

“Nathan says you can use this locker,” Jasmine said, pointing. She stood next to Inho in the cramped staff room, the last part of the restaurant tour. “Keep your uniform here so you don’t end up smelling like meat sauce all the time.”

“Ah, ok. It smells great in here though,” Inho replied with a deep inhale. It smelled like bread baking at the moment, fresh and rich.

“That’s just right now, trust me,” she quipped, snorting. “You get garbage-bag water and bolognese spilled on you enough times and the novelty wears off.”

Inho grinned at her, “Mmm, but I love garbage bag water though?”

Jasmine laughed and flicked her long dark hair over her shoulder to wind it into a braid. When she finished, she slipped a pack of cigarettes out of her apron.

“That’s about it for the tour, you’ll learn most of this when you start tonight.” She waved the pack in front of Inho, “I’m going to pop out for a smoke before lunch service starts, want to join?”

Inho had recently quit smoking. He gazed at the pack in her hand with more than a little longing.

“No, I’m good,” he replied with more conviction than he felt.

Jasmine caught his stare, and snickered, “You liar”.