Teach Me How To Love

Part 1 ~ Lovely Destiny

It's monday morning and I'm late for work. . . my mom kept calling me in the middle of the night, complaining about her new haircut. . . and Instead of looking for a new hair dresser, she kept calling me for moral support. Like, what's that gonna do? I can't magically change her hair through the phone, nor do I have the ability to cut hair in general. I'm a waitress . . . I bring people food and make sure they're not thirsty. . . . welcome to my life.

I kept telling her the same thing over and over again; ''your hair will grow back, mom, it's not the end of the world'' but she kept talking and talking . . . I wanted us to hang up because I desperatly needed to got to bed . . . and now here I am, monday morning and I got dark circles under my eyes. Thanks mom . . .

Oh, but that's not all . . . I have this bad feeling in my stomach. The kind of feeling you have when you know you've done something wrong. . . friday evening, before I left work, I kind of broke a bunch of very expensive champange glasses and didn't tell anyone . . . my stomach tells me that my boss found them . . . oh man . . it's 200 bucks worth of glass that could be taken from my paycheck next week. My boss is ok, I guess, but there's something about her I just can't stand . . maybe it's her loud voice . . her annoying loud voice . . or maybe her strong perfume which she loves to use every flippin' day . . lots of it . . TONS of it . . . or maybe it's just fact that she doesn't welcome joy into her life. I barely ever see her smile . . .

I walk into the restaurant and change into my work clothes. I'm wearing a black skirt that reaches down to the middle of my thighs, a white button up shirt and black bumps. And my hair needs to be in a bun ALWAYS when I'm at work. My boss Mrs. Stine is strict about these things. . . all the waitresses: hair up! and all the waiters: no beard! . . . a 5 o'clock shadow is fine, but nothing more than that. . . . I don't mind wearing my hair in a bun. . . my hair is long and thick . . and curly . . I'm half black and half german. The hair I got from my mom and my eyes are my dad's . . . . I really like my green/brown eyes . . they're unique looking. I really like them.

"Destiny!"

"Yes, Mrs.Stine?"

"I would like to talk to you . . can I please see you in my office?"

"Umm . . of course . . sure!"

I follow her to the office . . my heart is pounding in my chest and my palms are suddenly becoming sweaty. I bet she wants to talk to me about the broken glasses . . . I hope not though . . I can't afford to pay 200 bucks for my clumsiness . . . I really can't.

"Destiny . . . here's something I need you to do . . ."

"Ohh . . umm . . yes, of course . . what is it?"

"What I need you to do right now is, prepare the big table nr.20 . . a bunch of laywers will come here to eat lunch today and I want everything to look classy and wonderful. Use the fanciest napkins, the shiniest plates and please put some candles on there too. Table nr.20 needs stand out from all the others. I want them to feel comfortable here"

"Do you know any of these laywers, Mrs.Stine?"

She gives me a stern look. "Destiny . . laywers have money . . they love to eat . . especially the bigger ones . . if they like it here, they will stay longer, AND when you stay longer in a restaurant, you eat more and you drink more . . . and that is money, my love . . . more money equals a happier boss . . . remember that, sweetheart"

I fake a laugh and slowly leave the office, hoping that this is all she brought me in here for. I start preparing table nr.20 . . . I'm gonna work extra hard to show her that I can be trusted. I'm gonna make this the best looking table in the 'Stines' restaurant.
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