Dreamscape

Chapter 5

                It’s day number five in this world. On the first day, I went through the crazy ordeal of being lost in a desert with no one to rely on but myself and a mystery stranger. Day two involved errands and chores with the most bubbly girl alive – a huge contrast to day number one. The next few days were much like the second; I helped Vivian around the house, and she has even convinced her boss to let me work at the restaurant. She insisted that he was always grumbling about the lack of help, especially since more and more customers were being drawn in. Grudgingly, he agreed. And here I am – waitressing.

                At home – in the real world – I did everything in my power to avoid such work. The memorization, the interaction with other people, having to be constantly chipper and sweet to each and every customer – it’s too much for me. I dealt with it in small doses back at Zenith Markets, but waitressing takes that to a whole different level.

                Oh, your order was wrong? I guess that’s my fault.

                The prices are too high? I’m really sorry about that.

                You just realized that there are nuts in your carrot and walnut cake? I should have known to warn you about that.

                I thought waitressing was the pinnacle of extreme stress and anxiety, but I was wrong. Oh no, no, no – What’s truly the most aggravating job is waitressing in a medieval world that you aren’t even from. The food is simple enough to remember, and most customers want small things to go along with their alcohol. However, other than the issue with people of magical roots, this world also seems to not yet have had a women’s rights movement. I should have realized this after the blacksmith’s son insisted that women were only meant to be in the kitchen.

                That reminds me of certain jokes boys would tell in high school (and college, and the work place, and online forums).

                “Watch where yer pouring that, girl,” a man snarls, snapping me back into reality.

                My eyes go wide as I realize I had poured just a bit too much drink into this man’s glass.

                “S-Sorry…,” I mutter, quickly reaching for the napkins on the table. Of course I just happen to knock over the mug of water that sits on the it. My mouth goes dry and I feel goose bumps crawling along my skin.

                “Can’t you do anything right?” The man raises his hand, and I instinctively flinch back. (I dare him to hit me! Go ahead! I’ll hit him back!)

                If I hit him back, just where would that land me?

                I close my eyes, bracing for a slap that never comes. Hesitantly, I open an eye to peek at the man seated at the table. Another person, clothed from head to toe in long, brown robes, is standing behind the man, his own hand clasped tightly around the customer’s wrist.

                “That is no way to treat a lady,” the stranger admonishes, clicking his tongue.

                “Tch!” The unruly customer yanks his hand free and stands to glare down at the other person. “What’re you gonna do about it?”

                “Nothing.” The second man stands a full head shorter than the first, but he seems unphased. He simply shrugs his shoulders, raising his hands in the air. “I just would rather you not hit the staff, is all. It is not her fault she is clumsy.”