TEEN BOSS

Chapter 6

Two words

Long line.

Actually three words.

Very long line.

Of course the CEO teen would eat food from the popular expensive Chinese restaurant. The restaurant had the theme colours red and yellow: red tables, black seats, red and yellow Chinese lanterns with floral patterns and Chinese writings printed in black on the walls. It was crowded. The seats were all occupied, including the seats outside of the restaurant and there where people that were standing, waiting for their orders like me. I sighed heavily rethinking my life choices in the corner of the restaurant while munching on the gummy bears I was able to salvage. I had already ordered...20 minutes ago. After 10 minutes I thought buying the vanilla macchiato would be a productive and time well spent idea...I was wrong. It was cold.

I hope he doesn't fire me for a cold macchiato.

"Number 109," the cashier called and I felt hopeful, because number 109 was the person before me - a tall scrawny guy who I overheard order a box of chicken feet. He was on his phone but quickly put it away when he heard the familiar number. The guy took his food and left and I waited expectantly for my turn.

"Number 111."

Yes fina-wait what?!

I marched to the ordering counter, pushing number 111 out of the way. "Excuse me? You skipped me."

"You number 111?"

"Wh-no."

"Then move. Now is 111 turn."

"Yeah, you can't just cut in," number 111 - another scrawny guy said.

"Puck it," I glared the guy who decided it best to wait. "I'm 110. I come before 111," I told the fairly rounded Chinese male cashier.

"110 already take food and go."

"No. 110 not already take food. 110 here. 110 me."

The guy looked at the plastic bags of food displayed behind him with numbers on it. "See, there no 110. Only 109 and...wait..."

"You gave chicken feet my food?"

How is this the most popular Chinese restaurant?

"Chicken feet not bad. It's good for you," he said placing the bag in front of me.

"No, you don't understand. This isn't mine. I could loose my job for this."

"Fine, but you must order again and take number."

I told him my order and he gave me a number. "A 150!?"

"Lots of people," he said simply.

I went back to the corner and leaned my back against the wall helplessly. No Jamie you can't tackle the chef...or the customers...it's not going to work.

The cashier kept calling numbers of other customers while I eyed the time impatiently. "Number 120... number 130... number 140...number 145..."

I went closer to the counter so my order wouldn't be taken again. "Number 148..." This is taking forever! "Number 149..." C'mon, c'mon, c'mon! "Number 15-"

"-that's me!"

I took the plastic bag of food and hurriedly turned to leave, but I bumped into someone, spilling the vanilla macchiato on him, me and the floor.

"No!" I shot a glare at the guy who I bumped into and it was the chicken feet guy. "Why can't you watch were you're going and why are you taking people's food?"