Chapter 7 - I Put Myself on Service Because I Wanted the Day Perfect
I did not need to push:
the cart.
We had staff.
Plenty.
I should have spent the reception in:
formalwear,
sitting with family,
checking operations through Martin.
Instead, at five that morning, I put on:
black pants,
white blouse,
comfortable shoes.
Why?
Because I know events.
The owner standing around in an evening dress helps nobody when:
ice arrives late,
a kitchen printer dies,
someone puts the gluten-free rolls beside normal bread.
I told myself:
I’m working until dinner starts.
Then I’ll change.
But problems kept:
coming.
A floral arch shifted.
Transportation arrived early.
Two guest-place cards were duplicated.
Then the allergy-marker issue happened.
I stayed:
in uniform.
Brielle saw:
exactly what she expected to see.
Maya.
Working.
Serving.
Same as always.
The irony was not that I had disguised:
myself.
I hadn’t.
The irony was that my sister needed clothing to remind her whether I deserved:
May you like
respect.
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