Minimum Wage

05:00

"Here I am, God! Reaching my full potential!" I scream at the sky in futility.

I'm not ready to smile yet. I'm not ready to feign interest in customer's snot-covered children playing in the sand I'll end up sweeping off of the paved road after the "closed" sign goes up. It's either that or be shat on, because Mr. Cuntface wanted white bread, NOT brown bread, or Mrs. Know-it-all would like her egg poached, "Not soft, but not hard either. You can do that for me, right?"

Yes ma'am, I'll walk straight into the kitchen and do it myself. On camera. Where my boss can see me doing exactly what I was told not to do.

Do you even know what South African money is worth? I basically get paid a dollar per hour. I can't afford anything other than Ramen, my car is driving on fumes, the sole of my shoe is loose and my tips literally pays the kitchen staff. I get about 10% of everything I make.

Your poached egg can go fuck itself and that third glass of free water you've ordered? Please remember to pour what you don't drink over the plants outside, so I didn't have to waste my time on serving a retiree with acrylic nails and false eyelashes for nothing.

Fuck. It's 06:17 and I've been procrastinating facing the day, staring into the blank lack of consciousness of my white bedroom wall. I think I'll snort some methylphenidate, yes, drug my brain into wanting to move.

Time to go make enough money to buy glue to fix my fucking shoe.