E L L A
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Social anxiety.
Having it kills when you're a teenage girl with a shitty job.
Especially when you work a normal everyday job and you have to speak to entitled 'customers'.
Or in my case 'athletes.'
"Excuse me, sir, you're not allowed to be shirtless in the gym," I yell across the gym to the man for the 8th time tonight. I walk towards them and my cheeks have a hot sensation, not because I'm scared, but because I'm nervous to speak up when needed.
Two men come here to play with the rules, seeing how far they can take it by razzing us workers- we don't find humor in it tho.
And they're both here... at night!
I just got hired here around a month ago and everyone looks at me like I have 'fuck you' written across my forehead.
Maybe it's because I'm a younger woman working night shifts?
Or maybe it's because my dad has fucked over every mid-class person in this town?
Maybe they have questions about why I'm working and my dad is close to being a billionaire?
I guess I'll never know.
Women are treated as if we are a mirror- only need us to see if they look good. Especially in this small ducked-off town in Texas, the rich leech off the poor and gets away with it.
In my workplace we have to wear black cheerleading spanks with the gym's logo on the side of our left hip, and a short-sleeve shirt that's the color of a jail uniform.
The logo is a orange circle with a barbell on it.
Why won't you just quit?
Is a question I ask myself, but I already know the answer.
Because I'm 19, living with my bullshit ass parents, and no one else will hire me because 'I don't have enough experience.'
Trust me if I could pick another place I would, but they pay me 20/hr so I guess it's fine.
It's late at night and the gym closes in about 2 hours.
Which means I get to leave in 3 hours.
I have to lock up, and usually, a trainer, Max, is here with me. I also have to walk home because my brother is out with his boyfriend, so he can't pick me up.
A boyfriend he never let me meet, yes I'm salty about it, because he knows I live vicariously through him.
My dad would kill me if I be with someone else besides my ex, Miro.
Miro was a cheating, abusive, mind-controlling, narcissistic dick head, a lot like my dad.
"Dude, come on, if you don't put your shirt on I'm going to have to get you removed from the gym," I voice in frustration, and rubbing the nape of my neck at the fact he's still lifting with one broken AirPod in his grubby ear.
These guys don't even come to the gym to work out half of the time. He takes showers because he's practically homeless and our membership is only 7.99 a month.
He tells all of his business aloud, that's how I know he's on the verge of being homeless.
I don't have a problem with homeless people coming because usually, they're nicer than the rich.
