The Last of Sansora

PROLOGUE - THE IMPERFECT

[EVA'S POV ]

[THREE MONTHS AGO]

My life is not so perfect.

In fact, it was two steps away from average, let alone perfection. And I say this with great emphasis.

It's not because it's shitty, no. It's because I try to make it less difficult while it always gets harder. It's like having a stain on your T shirt and trying to wipe it off but instead it smudges across the shirt making it worse.

I've been working at this diner for six years, but I still can't go through the day without feeling like my life should just end already.

Look at me now, trying to balance two trays of food on my hands expertly, while making sure my apron doesn't untie and fall off, and trying to walk briskly but gently at the same time so that the heels off my shoes do not make too much noise.

And then I have to go through another ordeal of trying to remember which customer is assigned to which food, when I can't even find my own hairbrush in my own bedroom. Also I have to try and force a smile when I am very very tense and stressed out. I blow a portion of my dark hair from my face and breathe in.

Okay, I could take it slowly. The coffee is for the young man with his girlfriend, the double cheeseburger is for the kid who won't just shut up. His mother looks pretty much like she wants to sell him off and get money for a better wig. It's sad how this kid might not grow with enough maternal love.

The hotdogs are for the fat guy with the double chin and bald head. He's already an overweight, why would he want five hotdogs? He's gonna get a heart attack. He doesn't even look at me as I serve his food. How rude!

And I think the salad is for the blonde haired lady at the corner with her phone. Lord, she's got great hair. Looks so silky. She could be a model or something. As I approach her table, I can smell her perfume. It smells so good. All of a sudden I feel like dirt next to her, she reeks of prominence.

I stop by her table and put down her salad from the tray as she hangs up from a phone call. She looks up at me beneath her long lashes like I'm an insect she wants to squash. What's her problem? Is there a bug in my hair?

"Where are the mushrooms? There should be mushrooms." she snaps at me indignantly.

"Um, we do not have salad with mushrooms and..."

"Which salad does not have mushrooms? And why didn't you tell me you didn't have them? Do you not know how to do your job?" she practically yells, gaining everyone's attention.

I swallow and clear my throat, resisting the urge to slap the fake eyelashes off her face. Calm down, Eva, customer is always right.

"You didn't tell me you wanted them in your salad, ma'am." I say in my most polite voice. That's why it's called an order, you say what you want. You don't assume it in your head.

"Well, I'm not eating this." she shakes her head, getting up with her belongings. I stare at her in shock as she walks away. She's not eating the salad because it's got no mushrooms? Well, beat it, Miss Pretty.

A hand grabs my wrist and turns me around. Uh oh. I'm face to face with Mr Sanchez, the manager of the dinner.

"What are you doing?" he asks with gritted teeth, obviously pissed off.

"Um, sir, we really don't have salad with mushrooms..."

"But she wanted them."

Is this man for real? "She didn't tell me, sir. And we don't have them."

"You should've apologized. That's the right thing to do."

"I'm sorry, Mr Sanchez." I say with my head bowed, ashamed. No, not ashamed. Just being polite so that I don't lose my job.

"And what are you wearing? Moccasins?" he stares at my feet with pure disgust. "You are required to wear black sneakers. Do I need to remind you of the policies? How long have you been here?"

"I'm sorry, sir." I repeat. Oh, those sneakers. God knows how they got into the washing machine and got so wet that I had to resort to moccasins.

"Also do something about your hair. It's in your face. What if it gets into the food? What is wrong with you, Eva?" he chastises.

I pull my hair from my face immediately and tuck it into the barrette where it stubbornly escaped from. "I'll not repeat it again, sir." I promise.

"You better not." he shakes his head at me and adjusts his expensive looking suit. "Remember to smile as well. You look tense. Do you love your job or not?"

"No, sir. I love my job." I have to. After all, it's the only reason why I'm able to go to college.

"Good. Because this is your life. If I fire you right now, you'll be hopeless. And if you lose another customer because of your stupidity, you're fired. Is that clear?"

I nod. It was as clear as the fact that he was an asshole. He turns around and walks away, I immediately save my apron from falling down, and retie it.

Even my clothes are against me.

With a sigh, I make my way to the kitchen, earning a lot of odd looks from the customers. I go to stand next to Marie, my best friend Baxter's girlfriend who is busily chopping onions.

"How's it going?" she looks up and beams at me.

"It's bad. I want to quit."

Marie chuckles. "You've been saying that for years now."

"I'm serious now. I'm going to quit."

"To do what?"

"I don't know... I'll work somewhere else."

"Look, you're better off here. Even though Mr Sanchez is a bitch, his mother is nice. Speaking of his mother, Mrs Sanchez is turning 70 next week. She has invited us to her birthday party."

"Really? Us? Me and you included?"

"Of course. Every worker in the diner has been invited. She just left." Marie says and thrusts a card at me. "Here. I saved an invitation card for you. Will you come?"

"Yes! Why not?"

"Cardale!" a voice booms in the kitchen, making me jump. Great. Why wouldn't Mr Sanchez let me be? It's not like I can run off and get another job. I was stuck here, probably for life.

I turn around. "Yes sir?"

"Are you aware that there are customers waiting while you stand here chit chatting?" he asks, his voice filled with spite. "Marie, get back to work! And you, Eva, you better go and get the orders."

I nod obediently and start skedaddling when my name is mentioned again.

"Five minutes." Mr. Sanchez says. "I need food on those tables in five minutes. If not, you lose your job."

I sigh and nod. Did I mention that I only ate a carrot for breakfast? Damn, I have to serve food to people while I'm hungry myself.

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Song recommendation: Sign of the Times by Harry Styles. 👌