Read Online Books/Novels:
Author/Writer of Book/Novel:
He wants my treats, but I won’t be tricked.
|Books by Author:|
It wasn’t cold enough to see my breath, not quite, the air taking on the crispness only autumn could bring, the trees bursting in vivid orange and red, mixing in with the remaining green. I pulled my knee-length parka tighter around the skimpy dress the manager required for my job.
It took some doing to convince him to let me wear my Doc Martens instead of the black spike heels sported by most of the female employees. I had to polish my boots until they glowed, but eventually he caved. Wearing a dress that left little to the imagination was one thing; risking a broken ankle was another.
It’s not that I was insecure or prudish. I was actually pretty proud of my body. I was curvy but in all the right ways, which still tended to turn heads, my breasts and ass being particular areas of attention. I won’t lie; it felt nice to be complimented on them.
But there was a time and place for everything, and what I objected to was being forced to show off my body at work, when it wasn’t of my own choice. But I had bills to pay, so I continued to don the skimpy outfit, and at least I got a win in with the Docs.
The restaurant was mid-level nice, at least in New York City terms. Everything went kind of weird when you crossed through the vortex onto Manhattan island. Prices jumped, crowds closed in and standards shot through the roof, the height of luxury almost anywhere else in the world being simply middling by Manhattan standards. Which was honestly why it felt kind of good to attract male attention, the standards of beauty and attraction being no exception.
I got through the door quickly, a few minutes late due to taking a bit too long to bask in the autumn beauty that New York never fails to deliver. Heck, there are even whole movies made about it and titled after it, so how could I not stop and look?
I did a quick scan for my manager, who was nowhere to be seen, luckily, and then got behind my podium, quickly ditching the parka behind it before I started setting up for the day. This wasn’t really my dream job, though I could hardly complain. Most people start out a busser or even a dishwasher, and hostess is a step up from that.
I wasn’t really sure how I’d gotten so lucky. I had just seen an ad looking for a hostess and basically bullshitted my way through the interview, fake it till you make it being my personal motto at the time. It was a risk, but I needed the job. I was unemployed and the recession wasn’t helping much.
I had lost my last job because of an over-developed sense of morality and justice, which I partly blame on my parents. The working conditions weren’t just bad but dangerous. Rumor had it that the managers had worker’s compensation payouts accounted for in the yearly budget. Doing it that way was still cheaper than making the improvements that would have actually made things safe.
Driven by rage and justice, I tried to start a union. There was more of a response than I had expected. Other workers, including those who had been there for years, started organizing around me like they had just been waiting for someone to lead them.
It hadn’t turned out well. The managers had found out about our plan and fired me as the ring-leader. There would have been more firings. A lot more. But I had made it sound like the entire thing had been my idea and that I had basically duped the others.
Everyone else kept their jobs, though the head supervisor had really scared me, looking and talking as though he might actually take me out back and shoot me. There were other rumors that the owners had connections to the mob, and I wouldn’t doubt it. In the end, I honestly felt lucky to get of there alive, albeit without my paycheck and livelihood.
The manager at this restaurant was a lot nicer to work for. He was a bit of a picky timekeeper and a sexist pig but at least there was no sense of impending immediate execution for having the audacity to assert one’s rights. The worst he might do is fire you, or I guess grab your ass as he passed. It still made me mad, but I decided it was probably best not to tempt fate, no matter how much I might want to.
I was what my mother used to call “a little too honest,” particularly with some of the rich assholes who would walk right in and be demanding like they owned the place. To my knowledge, none of them actually did, although I was a bit confused about the ownership structure of this place, so maybe some of them did.