cherished affliction

Makes Me Wonder

Camila knew she was fired the moment she stepped into George's office after closing time.

She actually knew that from the moment the wine began to seep down into the woman's shoes that her fate at the high-end restaurant had been sealed.

She just knew it.

She wasn't complaining about her circumstances, but the reality was that no one had ever taught her how to be a waitress before she graduated from NYADA; no one told her how to serve drinks properly without falling on her face in embarrassment. No one told her how to be domestic and starving - but she was trying. She was honestly trying to be the very best at what she did, even though it wasn't what she originally dreamed she'd be doing in New York City.

Despite her valiant efforts, she guessed that it would only be a matter of time until her incompetence would make an appearance.

Tonight, she outdid herself. 

Though there was an insurmountable amount of evidence that proved why she should have been fired on the spot, Camila still prayed for a miracle, because she was barely holding onto to the job she had in the daytime and now she was teetering on the edge of what would have completed her half of the rent money.

To say she was worried would be an understatement.

Not that she was being a whiny little brat or anything, because she was very aware of how poor you're supposed to be when you graduate from performance arts school with no work lined up for you.

She wasn't complaining about having to get two normal jobs while juggling auditions. She was just overly-aware of how terrible she was at being normal, at working as a waitress, doing normal things such as taking drinks to people or balancing plates. She wasn't trained for that.

But life was tough, and Shawn couldn't afford the rent all by himself.

It was just the way things went. She made a deal a long time ago with her fathers; they would get the apartment, and she would find a roommate and pay for it. She had never been spoiled - and it wasn't going to start now. She just recognized how incompetent she was when it came to servicing people involving trays and mannerisms and class.

So walking into George's office, sitting down, and waiting for him to tell her just how much of a screw up she truly was? Mind numbing. At some point she wouldn't have cared what he thought about her, but now it was detrimental to her survival.

"Camila –"

"George, I'm so sorry about tonight, I-I just lost my footing and I was trying to keep those skinny little flukes from falling...but I just couldn't and so...please, please don't fire me, I really need this job. I really need it."

George sighed at the pleading girl, rubbing his temples as he spoke, "I know, and I'm not going to fire you...but only because it was requested of me not to."

Camila released a breath of relief, for she could have kissed his stubby little fingers for salvaging her job.

Then something he said caught up with her.

"Wait...request? Who requested for me to stay?"

She knew it wasn't the owner; it couldn't have been the owner. Hell, she's never even known the name of the person who apparently made millions off of the restaurant.

"The very woman that you spilled wine on. I was about to fire you, because I would assume that in a situation as horrific as the one that occurred tonight our most prestigious customers would certainly demand it. I honestly thought someone as prestigious as Lauren Jauregui would most definitely ask for your instant removal-"