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Four
Elena
"Shit!"I curse as I wake up and immediately begin to panic when I see the time flashing on my digital clock. Sherry is going to fire my ass for sure if I'm late again today. There's no doubt about it. She as much as told me so yesterday when I showed up late.
This totally isn't like me, and I don't get what's going on. I've been late the past two mornings, and it makes no sense. I haven't done anything differently from normal.
I always make sure my alarm on my phone is set to go off and wake me up, but it didn't go off two nights ago.
So, I was late. For the first timeever,I might add.
Still, Sherry chewed me a new one for showing up nearly an hour past time to be there.
I was so determined to not have that mix-up happen again that I went out and bought an old-fashioned alarm clock, thinking that surely that would do the trick.
Now, I know I'm not a total idiot or anything. I followed the instructions to the tee and set the clock, but it still didn't go off that night, making me late two days in a row.
So, I determinedly set both the alarm and my phone last night, yet neither one of them went off this morning.
Am I totally incompetent, or is the universe out to get me? How in the hell does my alarm not go off for three days in a row now? Am I really that unlucky?
Maybe I'm cursed. Maybe I pissed off some little old lady, and she gave me the evil eye.
I don't even brush my hair or take a shower before I throw my clothes on and just flop my hair up in a messy ponytail. I probably look like shit, but that point will be moot because if I'm fired, it won't matter anyway.
I'm out the door in less than five minutes and flying down the street like a madwoman, bumping into people without even taking the time to mumble an "I'm sorry." I pray to whatever deity is listening that none of these people are customers of the Chattelier because they'll surely be pissed that I bumped into them like this.
The only thing I can hope to count on is that most of the restaurant's customers have drivers and fancy cars. They're not walking up and down the streets like us normal working-class folks.
I'm panting and out of breath when I finally bust through the employee entrance of the Chattelier.
Oh no. My stomach drops when I see that Sherry is already standing there with her arms crossed and ice in her eyes.
"Sherry," I begin, but she cuts me off by holding up her hand. "No more of your excuses, Elena. This is it. I told you three strikes and you're out, and you just batted your last one, so I'm sorry, honey, but I gotta let you go."
To her credit, Sherry's eyes soften for a moment, and she actually does look like she's sorry.
Still, she might have a big heart, and I know she has a bit of a soft spot for me underneath there, but at the end of the day, she's still a manager and she has to be firm to keep the rest of the crew in line. If she slacks up on me, everyone else will see and she'll lose control of the entire staff. Everyone would show up late if they thought she was a pushover.
So, she's going to have to make an example out of me.
And I get it. I really do. But it still sucks for me though, and I can't help feeling a bit betrayed. Yeah, I've been late three consecutive mornings, but it was a bizarre turn of events, and I've been working myself to the bone for this place. When someone didn't show up, who's the one Sherry always called? Who's the one who would come in to cover someone else's shift at the drop of a hat? Me. That's who. I realize I messed up the last few days, but damn it, my dedication and availability should count for something.
Part of me wants to lash out and tell her just how I feel. But there's another weaker part of me—the part of me that I hate—that's causing tears to prick at the back of my eyes.
I try to blink them away, but it's no good. I can feel them coming, and I'll be damned if I stand here and let everyone see me cry. Everyone is staring, their heads whipping back and forth between me and Sherry, so I straighten my back and nod my head stiffly at her.
I don't say a word before I turn and walk back out the door. No sooner am I out the door do I burst into tears.
I've never heard a more ominous sound in my entire life than the thud of that door closing with such finality. It might as well be a nail in my coffin because what am I going to do without a job? I'll lose everything. I won't have a place to stay.
Panic bubbles up in me at my next thought. I'll be out on the street. I already know the kinds of things single women have to do to survive on the streets, and I'm just not cut out for that kind of life.
It was hard enough to get this job, and I doubt Sherry's going to give me a glowing reference after she just fired me.
I walk down the street blindly, the tears streaming down my face. I'm not sobbing or anything. I'm just crying silently as I make my way through the throng of people and finally take a seat on the first park bench I find.
I sit there and don't even try to wipe the tears away as I wallow in self-pity. I've never been a quitter. I've always been a survivor, and I've always tried to stay optimistic.
