Chapter 4
Lana
Fuck, fuck, fuck. Where are my pants? I rummage through my closet, pull out all my clothes, and throw them on the floor.
My boss is very particular about what we should wear to the diner, and our outfit consists of a blue T-shirt, black pants with no holes, and white sneakers.
I can’t be late because I’m looking for the only pair of good black pants I own.
I bought them two years ago, and I can’t afford to buy another pair on my salary.
My black pants are nowhere to be seen, and to add to my frustration, my room is a fucking mess. I throw my hands up in frustration.
“How the fuck am I going to go to work with no good pants in a couple of hours?” I practically yell throughout my apartment.
Everything is so expensive.
I still have to clean up my room because I don’t like leaving anything dirty, and I have to do the dishes.
I face away from my window, and I cross my arms and shoot daggers at my closet. Hoping my pants will appear that way. Then my eyes catch something all the way in the back on the top shelf.
My motherfucking pants.
I practically yank them out of the closet, and at the same time, I feel a sting in my thigh. I start to yawn, and great, now I feel tired.
Did I get enough sleep?
I sit down on the floor, and my world turns black.
***
My room. My clothes. Work.
Fuck, I have to go to work.
I try to stand up straight, but I land back on my ass. I try to balance myself by putting my weight on my right hand, and it works. I stand up and straighten out my blue shirt and black pants. My feet make their way toward my broken mirror, and I look over myself.
I look decent. Actually, more than decent, and it’s all because of my pants and sneakers. I rub my temples because I feel a headache coming, and the more I do that, the more I feel the wheels turning in my head. When did I buy a new pair of pants and sneakers? And when did I put them on?
I can’t remember what happened… Oh shit, how late is it? I look at the old clock on my wall, and I see that I have to leave for my evening shift in thirty minutes.
Stellar act, Lana. Being late is such an accomplishment.
I leave for the diner in my car, and the whole time I’m going over what just happened.
Or didn’t happen.
The recollection of what happened before I passed out isn’t coming to the forefront of my mind, and I’m stuck in my own thoughts. Because my salary depends on me being in the diner, I compose myself by shaking my head and focusing on the road.
I arrive to the diner in my new outfit and make a beeline for the staffroom.
My locker has a dingy lock that any amateur burglar can pick, but I don’t care.
Everybody who works here generally keeps to themselves.
I don’t form any relationships, romantic or platonic, with anyone because it can make disappointments feel heavier.
I give myself one last once-over in the mirror and decide I'm ready to serve.
It’s 5 p.m., and I start my shift that won’t end until midnight.
Lucky me.
***
“Get your ass over here!” Why are men always yelling? I feel like it’s to compensate for their small dicks.
I make my way out of the break room and go into the kitchen to look for my boss. When I spot him, I shake my head.
He is pissed.
The moment I’m three feet away from him, he starts yelling. Again.
Stay calm, Lana.
“Lana, I told you to take a break for only fifteen minutes. You have been there for God knows how long!” My boss’s ears are red now, and I swear I can see droplets of sweat running from his receding hairline down to his nose.
Yuck.
“Boss,” I start calmly. “I have only been gone for, like, seven minutes.” He slams his hand on the kitchen table, making the nearby staff go quiet.
“I don’t fucking care! Go into the dining room and serve some customers. Do you think that food will magically appear on people’s tables?” His chest rises and falls with anger. Does this asshole think his diner is a five-star restaurant? It’s shitty at best.
But I still need this job.
“Okay.” I feel like a complete tool for agreeing to his ridiculous demands and threatening tone. Before I open the door of the kitchen to go into the dining room, my dick-ass boss calls out to me again.
“Go to Nenad and serve him first. He is asking for you.” Suppose my night couldn’t get any better. First, I collapse onto my floor, then my boss yells at me, and now I have to serve food and drinks to a pervy, misogynistic pig.
Stay calm, Lana.
I don’t even turn around, doing what I am told. I walk up to Nenad and plaster on a smile.
“What can I get you?” I ask him. The way his eyes sweep over my entire body is unsettling. Calling him a pig is actually an insult to pigs.
“A hamburger, extra fries, and a large orange soda. Make it quick, sweetheart.” I would sweetheart his ass if he didn’t give good tips.
“Coming right up.” Before I leave, he whistles at me. He actually whistles at me. I look around the diner, and I notice the other customers don’t give a shit. Everybody is so engrossed in their phones or shallow conversations.
Humanity is a fucking joke.
I give his order to the cooks, and they start preparing this fucker’s hamburger.
I go around and ask other customers what they want.
Even though this isn’t my dream job, not in the slightest, I’m good at it.
I always plaster on a smile which encourages people to leave a tip.
While it’s not customary in Bosnia to give a tip like in the US, it’s nice when people do.
After a couple of hours, I ask my dick-ass boss if I can go on my second break, and he begrudgingly agrees. I go to the break room, and I’m finally alone. I take my phone out and see that I have an unread message.
I open it, and my heart starts pounding.
It’s from my mystery texter.
Fuck.
With shaky hands, I open the text, and I bite my lip.
Why are you entertaining that asshole customer who constantly puts you down?
This time, I don’t let myself think for too long and type out a message. I send the message before I can give it a second thought.
Which is so unlike me. Color me intrigued, I guess.
Who is this?
After thirty seconds, I get a reply back.
A man you’ll meet soon enough. Don’t talk to the pig again, or there will be consequences, little hummingbird.
The veins in my neck are pulsating, and I can feel my ass leaving an imprint on this dingy chair. After what feels like forever, I muster up the courage and ask him who he is again. The small room suddenly feels like it’s closing in on me, and my breath is heavy.
Why does he call me little hummingbird?
“Jesus fucking Christ, how long are you going to sit here?” I stay calm while my boss is talking to me like I’m less worth than the bottom of his shoe. My eyes are glued to my phone even while my boss is giving me a verbal ass-whooping.
“It’s a bit quiet. Go and refill the coffee machine and clean the counter. I won’t ask twice.” Why is he still talking?
I stand up because I can’t take it anymore, and walk out to the counter. I start filling up the beans in our coffee machine. Whilst I’m filling up the machine, the bell above the main door dings.
I glance up and see a regular coming in—a quiet man with short black hair with a teenager by his side.
What’s odd to me about this customer is that he is always with a different teenager. I grab my pen and notepad and go up to the regular.
“Marco, how can I help you today?” He looks at the menu, even though I know what he is going to order. A black coffee for himself and a milkshake for the teenager. This one is currently drinking water from a bottle.
Weird.
She sets it down and doesn’t dare to look at me.
“Today I’m feeling a bit adventurous. We’ll both get milkshakes and a piece of your apple pie.” Calm down there.
“Amazing! I’ll get that for you right away.” I go to the kitchen, put down my pen and notepad, and ask for two milkshakes and two slices of apple pie. While I’m waiting, I hear Marco raising his voice.
“Look at what you just did!” When I look over, I see that the teenager has spilled her water over the floor. Before Marco can belittle her any more, I call out to him.
“Don’t worry, Marco. I’ll come and clean it up.” He shakes his head in disbelief at the teenager, and she immediately shrinks into herself. I grab my pen again and start walking to them, holding a cloth in the other hand.
“Here. Everything is—” Before I can finish my sentence, I slip on the water, grabbing onto the chair the teenager is sitting on. Because of my imbalance, I accidentally grasp her arm and I bump into her.
Before I can muster what I have done, I hear a shriek.
I quickly regain my composure and see the girl covering a small patch on her leg. My eyes widen, and I realize what I have done.
I look at my pen, and I see that there is a bit of blood.
“Lana!” someone yells at me. I exhale, knowing I’m probably getting fired.
I just slipped over water, and I stabbed a teenage customer in the leg with my pen.
I quickly stand and ask to see her leg. She nods and lets me examine her.
Even though she is wearing jeans, I can see that it’s nothing serious.
If I had stabbed her with a fork or a knife, or even harder with my pen, there would be a lot more blood.
“I think it’s going to be okay. But I think it’s good to go to a doctor to see if everything is in order,” I advise her.
“Maybe—”
My boss interrupts the teenager. “Lana, apologize immediately, or I will fire you!”
“I swear I didn’t do it on purpose. I walked up to them with a cloth in my left hand and my pen in my right hand. I guess I forgot to put it in my apron pocket. I just wanted to clean up the mess as soon as possible.” God, I sound like a pathetic human being.
“It’s not her fault. It’s this girl’s fault for spilling the water. Please don’t fire her, the customers love her,” Marco jumps to my defense, and my boss’s expression softens. And that’s only to please Marco.
“Of course, Mr. Jasarevic. Lana, I’ll have somebody else wait on them. Go and clean the kitchen with the staff.”
I look at the teenager, and while she is not giving me one second of her attention, I can feel her anxiety. Her shoulders are tense, and she is only looking at one spot. I go into the kitchen and finish my shift there.
My workday has been brutal, and my respect for hospitality workers is growing by the second. While I do not have a social life, I enjoy working out.
I make a mental note to finally check out the new building I wanted to work out in. Luckily, it’s open twenty-four seven.
I have to let some of the anger I have been building up inside me since this morning go.
Seriously, fuck humanity.
Before I can get to my car, I get a ping on my phone.
This can’t be happening.
Little hummingbird, why don’t you go to the emergency room? You might have broken something.
M.
This leaves me with one question. Who is M?