Virgin Lips

8. Just keep swimming

"Uh ... that's ..." Ben grabbed the phone from my hands, not even looking at the picture, and put it back into his pocket, "my cousin."

His cousin? I guess that would explain why the child was photobombing but he wasn't in the picture officially: he knew them but it was something amongst core family, no cousins or uncles and stuff.

Ben seemed very nervous, though. In fact he immediately stood, leaving lunch. "I should get back to work, it's late." Having said that, he rushed out, barely saying bye.

Something definitely spooked him, but I don't understand what could have. He's always so calm and peaceful.

--

"Well, well, Her Majesty finally deigns us of their presence!" Scott barked the moment I stepped foot into the diner. I had to do all I could not to roll my eyes in front of him. "Did you rest? Poor baby is overworked." He mimicked a child whining.

I ignored him completely, and headed straight to the first table I could see, to clean it. I didn't think he would be glad to see me, but I gotta admit, I thought his reaction in seeing me back to work would be way worse. In other circumstances, Scott would have listed all the possible insults he could come up with, in order of hurt, starting from the least offensive to the worst offense possible, which, I guess in his mind, was supposed to make me snap and turn in my notice. I would have, long time ago ... if only I had somewhere else to go.

Obviously, Mandy was late. She has her mani-pedi on Wednesdays, and the off to the hairstylist to revamp that pale red she still claims to be her original color. The good thing is that she's normally in a better mood on Wednesdays, so she's nicer to Scott, and in turn he's nicer to me. If cutting in half the number of daily insults is what you'd call being nicer.

I went on with my morning, even though Scott now and then came shouting and yelling. I didn't really hear him, I was thinking about Ben. No, not in that way. I was just confused by what happened yesterday at my place. Why react so weird at the mention of his baby cousin?

"Helloooo! Earth to Fatass!!!" Scott bellowed so loudly that a) I could hear it echoing in my head; b) a couple of clients winced. Not that they'd give two shits about an employer belittling his employee, it's just that he was too loud for their delicate ears. "What the fuck is wrong with you, today!!" He went on. "Are you deaf now??!" Nothing new here. What was new was that I felt his hand on my arm, and too late I realized he'd pushed me, so I lost my balance, and wound up crashing against a set of tables, which in turn broke – either due to my weight of because they were too old. I landed on my butt, and my back hit one of the tables, which hurt way more than if I'd hit a stone wall. That table hadn't been cleaned yet, which I guess is what Scott had been yelling about, so the remnants of what the clients had eaten crashed onto me entirely. None of the clients turned to look at what happened or see if I was ok. None.

I could see the cook laughing as he watched me, same as Scott, who was smirking in triumph, probably thinking this would be the proverbial straw that broke the camel's back to make me quit. And it probably would have been, had I, again, had somewhere else to go.

Insults have always been a daily routine in this diner, but Scott, as much of an asshole as he is, had never once come this far. Sure, he'd pushed me at times, but no like this. I should have been livid, furious. But I wasn't. I remained calm as I removed the chewed food from my hair and my uniform, some even got into my bra, but I couldn't remove it right there. All the while, Scott kept ranting about how I should have cleaned that table, this wouldn't have happened, how I was such a lazy ass, he didn't know why did he still keep me on.

I was in a whole different dimension. When you've worked for such a bastard as long as I have, you learn the long-lost art of self-control very fast, which comes in handy when such things happen. I could probably become a Tibetan monk thanks to Scott.

"What's going on here?" A stern voice asked from the door, just as I was struggling to get back up.

Scott's grin faded as he anxiously replied: "Nothing, just a clumsy waitress."

This clumsy waitress could feel her bones aching as she stood up. I realized why did Scott start acting all nice and serious, when I noticed the person that had just entered wore a police uniform.

She was somewhat short, or at any rate shorter than me, her hands were at her hips, her stance was combative, as if she were ready to arrest someone. The look on her face said she didn't buy a single word of what Scott said. Hence, she turned to me. "You okay, honey?"

I nodded without replying, and Scott filled in for me: "It's alright, ma'am, Joanna falls all the time, breaking things," like the plates that by miracle hadn't cut me, "I only keep her on because I don't want her to go back to her old habits," to which he mimicked a "glub, glub" that was meant to mean I was an ex alcoholic.

The officer didn't seem convinced, but because there was some chatter on the radio, she focused on that, during which time Scott saw to send me meaningful looks: play along. Play along, or you're fired. Play along, or this doesn't end here. I wasn't scared for my life, but I was for my livelihood, so I nodded.

I know, I know, it's not a very feminist approach, nor self-respecting, really. But you're barely above water as I am, you swallow all the dirt and the hurt, and keep going. Just keep swimming, Dory would say, no? Just keep swimming.