Tired With Work

Storm walked into the storeroom of the cafe, heaving in and out in anger, banging the door on its hinges not minding she might be penalized for that.

Who the hell did that bitch think she was? Storm gritted her teeth, remembering the spoiled brat of a lady, not much older than her, who had kept changing her orders because Storm had refused to give her Louise’s number.

The girl wasn't the first. There had been many like that, ogling Louise who didn’t help matters by winking at them at intervals. Storm had given up on the last woman, when the latter had intentionally poured her food on the floor, and had blamed it on Storm.

The head server had asked Storm to sit this one out, and that she seemed stressed. That would seem caring to the outside watcher, but Storm knew that her pay was about to be deducted. She hit the door with her foot, clenching her teeth when pain racketed past her feet and nerves to her brain.

Louise was beginning to be more bad than good. She concluded.

But it