As I reached the bar, I thought I might finally get a second to breathe. But of course, that wasn't going to happen.
"Mia," my supervisor called, and I barely turned before he was already walking over. "The toilets on Deck C are flooded. Need you to handle it."
I blinked.
"Excuse me?" I asked, already knowing I wasn't going to like the answer.
"The toilets. Deck C. Now."
I fought back the urge to groan. This was hands down the worst part of the job. But I wasn't about to argue, not when I needed the money.
"Right. Deck C," I muttered, already heading toward the stairs.
I couldn't believe this was my life now.
I took the long walk to Deck C, passing by rich people lounging by the pool like everything was perfect. Meanwhile, I was about to get up to my elbows in God knows what.
When I finally reached the bathroom, the smell hit me before I even opened the door. Great.
It was worse than I thought — water was spilling over, the floor was soaked, and there was an actual puddle of who knows what in the middle of the room.
I sighed, pulling on the rubber gloves. This was going to be a nightmare.
Great. Just great.
I grabbed the nearest mop, but as soon as I tried to wring it out, the water splashed up, soaking my shoes. My feet were already sore from standing all day, and now they were wet, too.
"Why me?" I muttered under my breath, scrubbing at the mess. It wasn't even a clean mess. It was one of those gross, murky types, and I could feel my patience slipping by the second.
The worst part? No one was even around to see how much I was suffering. This was the kind of thing nobody cared about, and I was the one stuck doing it.
But I had no choice.
Fifteen minutes later, I was knee-deep in this nightmare, wiping up the last of the mess when the door creaked open.
I froze.
Was I really about to get interrupted right now?
I turned, ready to snap at whoever dared to walk in. But to my surprise, it was one of the other staff members — Sarah, from the kitchen.
"Whoa," she said, taking one look at the scene. "That looks… rough."
I shook my head, hands on my hips. "You have no idea."
She chuckled, but it was one of those nervous laughs. "They still haven't fixed the plumbing on this deck, huh?"
"Nope," I muttered. "And I'm pretty sure I'm the only one who cares enough to clean it up.
Sarah hesitated for a second before stepping closer, glancing at the mess I was still tackling. "You want me to help?"
I didn't even think twice. "Please. I'm about to lose it."
We spent the next half hour working together in silence, Sarah handling the mop and me trying to clear the pipes. By the time we were done, the bathroom was at least presentable — but the whole experience had drained me.
"Thanks," I said to Sarah as we finished. "I owe you one."
She gave me a sympathetic smile. "Don't mention it. I've been there."
After I cleaned up, I finally managed to drag myself out of there, wondering if I'd ever see the light at the end of this ridiculously long shift.
By the time I left Deck C, my hands smelled like industrial cleaner, and my patience was at an all-time low. I just wanted to get through the night without any more surprises.
I made my way back to the staff area, hoping to sneak in a few minutes of rest before I had to get back on the floor. But of course, that wasn't happening.
As soon as I rounded the corner into the break room, I was met with the sight of my supervisor, Greg. He looked like he had something else for me to do.
"Mia, I need you to go back to VIP and take care of Mr. St. Patrick's table. They're out of drinks."
I froze.
That was the last thing I wanted to do right now.
"Seriously?" I asked, fighting the urge to roll my eyes. "Can't someone else handle it?"
He looked at me, unamused. "You're the closest. Go on."
I let out a heavy sigh but didn't argue. No point in fighting it, not when I needed this job. "Fine," I muttered, grabbing the tray and making my way back to the VIP area.
When I reached the section, I saw Mr. St. Patrick sitting there, leaning back in his chair with that annoying smug expression on his face. A blond girl was next to him, hanging on his every word. I couldn't help but roll my eyes.
I set the drinks down on their table, hoping he wouldn't notice me, hoping I could just get in and out without a word.
No such luck.
He looked up at me, his eyes scanning me for a moment before he spoke. "You again, huh?" His tone was dry, like he wasn't impressed.
I fought to keep my face neutral. "Yep, I'm the one." I turned to leave without waiting for his response.
But of course, he had more to say.
"Tell the bartender I want something stronger."
I didn't even turn back to him. "I'll tell them," I replied flatly, trying to sound as professional as I could. I didn't want to engage. I just wanted to finish this and get back to some peace.
I headed to the bar, and just as I thought, there was already a drink waiting for him. But I couldn't help but let out a small sigh. I wasn't in the mood for this.
I grabbed the drink from the bar, still annoyed, and made my way back to the VIP section. As I approached, I saw him still lounging, his attention fully on the girl next to him.
"Here you go," I said, keeping my voice flat, the irritation clear in my tone. "One stronger drink, just as you asked."
He glanced up, finally paying attention, and for a second, I thought I saw a flicker of something in his eyes — maybe annoyance. But it didn't last long. He just nodded, took the drink, and went right back to whatever nonsense he and his companion were chatting about.
I stood there for a beat, just long enough to wonder if I could get away with walking out without another word. But, OF COURSE, he had to speak up.
"Actually," he said, as if I hadn't already done enough for him, "bring me some snacks. The usual."
I felt my patience snap just a little. I kept my smile tight, fighting the urge to snap back. "Sure, I'll get right on it."
I turned around, doing my best to keep my frustration in check. As much as I wanted to tell him off, I knew better than to do that.
I headed toward the kitchen, my mind already trying to calculate how many hours were left in my shift. If I could just make it through tonight without any more incidents, I'd be fine.
By the time I returned with his snacks, my hands were shaking slightly from holding the tray too tightly.
I set the snacks down in front of him, trying to ignore the smug look he was still wearing.
"Is there a reason you're so… tense?" he asked, voice dripping with that same condescending tone.
He had to say something, didn't he...
I forced myself to smile, a little too tight. "No reason. Just here to do my job."
He didn't seem convinced. "You don't seem like you're enjoying it. Maybe you should try smiling more. It would make everything easier."
I froze, a sharp sting of irritation flashing through me. My fingers clenched around the tray, but I kept my expression neutral. "Maybe it would be easier if you weren't so… demanding," I muttered under my breath.
He caught it, but instead of calling me out, he just smirked. "Maybe. But I think you'll find that people who don't cater to me tend to have a short career around here."
I took a deep breath, refusing to let his words rile me up. I didn't care what he thought. I didn't care about his opinion on anything.
"I'll keep that in mind," I said, my tone sharper than I intended, but I didn't care.
He gave me one last look before turning his attention back to the girl beside him, and I was finally free to leave.