He rubbed his tired eyes. As much of a perfectionist he was, he was also a good student. And finishing an assignment two days before the due date had been his practice for many years.
After university , he headed to work. When he arrived, he couldn't believe his eyes. The chairs and tables that were placed outside were orderly arranged -- although the second chair could do a little push to the left; the windows were actually transparent, free from years of scratches and dust; the sign was legible; and the menu stand that had always been there for namesake, was now full. Usually, this was his involuntary,unpaid and instinctual job. Not only that, everyone was well dressed, with their hair gelled; shoes polished; uniform ironed and crisp. It was only now that he could appreciate the full glory of his workplace .
Unable to accept the unfathomable, he made his way through the back door, and found the inside a bustle, in contrast to the smooth jazz playing in the background. Employees running here and there, clenching and loosening hands, and trying to put on their best smiles and most sugarcoated voices. There were even a few who were eagerly looking out of the window and over the road.
"Hey, what's happening--", he didn't even finish his sentence before Walter pushed him into the staff room, put his hands on his shoulder, breathed in, and said :
"Look, areallyfamousfoodcritic'scomingoversowegottabeourbestandgetthatgoodrating, alright?"
His brain took a minute to process that. But, when it did, he could only gulp. He still hadn't talked to his manager to change his duties from the pizza-cutting centre to something less nerve-wracking and traumatic.
Worse still, he left his inhaler at home.
