Forsaken Peach by Brett Hicks

Author:Brett Hicks [Hicks, Brett]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2020-02-09T16:00:00+00:00

Twelve:

Every multi-billion-dollar heiress’ dream, to wear a hat with a massive animated chicken sitting on the top of your forehead! Chicken Shack, a local mom and pop to-go-order restaurant had agreed to take me on as a waitress. Hearing waitress, I had assumed it would be a tip-heavy job. What I was could more accurately be described as a minimum wage cashier.

Today was Saturday, and apparently everyone within a fifty-mile-radius had a sudden acute hankering for fried chicken.

“Are you ready to order?”

I asked, smiling sweetly. While I might loath and detest my parents for many reasons, I was suddenly grateful to them for the many years of lessons at smiling my way through a problem. Whoever said, “Fake it till you make it,” had probably experienced this level of hell themselves!

“Yes, I’d like a number two combo and a selfie, please.”

I blinked in surprise but otherwise maintained my composure.

“What type of drink would you like with that?”

The young woman giggled heartily.

“Sorry, it’s just funny hearing you say those exact words like a real fast food worker. You don’t mind that I’m recording this, do you?!”

She chirped animatedly. I felt like someone kicked my metaphorical dog just then. I suppressed the tired sigh that said to every one of the considerable numbers of would-be patrons, that I was already through with this crazy day after the first customer. Instead, I maintained the smile and kept faking it.

“That will be 7.53, and you can take a selfie, because this is a free country.”

I said, hiding the grimace I felt forming. The young woman squealed in delights and she turned around and leaned back into the register and snapped what I imagined was an overly thick pouty face pic of herself in front of me with my ridiculous stuffed chicken hat. If there was a god, he was laughing at my expense right now!

The tall perfectly shaped African American lady who stepped up next almost sent my nerves into shock. She was about an inch taller than me. She had keen intellectual brown eyes. She wore casual sporty windbreaker pants, and a bright blue UNC Athletics T-shirt. I’d never forget the Assistant-head coach of UNC, if I was in my eighties and senile. She looked at me with only mild disapproval. She did not hold back her feeling when she gazed at you. She was open, and she was honest. Despite her clear resentment for me, she was a breath of fresh air to me. I had so many people who made false platitudes to my face, but plotted, posted, and pestered behind my back. The age of modern media made everyone brave as hell, when safely tucked behind their false personas and their online screennames. Shannon Baker differed from all the haters on the web and on social media. She just openly didn’t like me. You might expect there to be little difference in how this made me feel, but honestly, it was easier this way. I could imagine a thousand reasons she might have for disliking me.

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