Work Starts Now

Having a conversation with my classmates was surprisingly pleasant. Normally when people talked to me, there was always this thick smog of pity - as if I’ll never be happy with my life again because of what happened. They’ll ask me about my hobbies, but they’ll never dig too deeply. They might ask me how I am, or if I heard a certain song on the radio. I suppose they want to feel like good people who aren’t leaving me out - and I can hardly blame people for that.

But sitting here was different: even though I said very little, I got to hear conversations with a depth that I was normally never privy to. For example, Shimizu Hideki apparently pissed in his sleeping bag during the school trip last year, and he still hasn’t been able to live that one down. People often tell me how hard I persevere in the face of the odds, but after hearing how much Shimizu has spent the past year fervently denying the allegations of the ‘piss incident’, I feel like those plaudits are better directed to him. His face was burning red with embarrassment and passion, and I could hardly stifle my laughter.

After that, they were discussing the girls they were attracted to. Considering the fervour of the last discussion, this one ended up far more civilised. The people made rounds across the table, although they did skip over me. Some people would have taken this as a slight, but I was actually relieved. You see, considering the prospect of me dating would have created a mildly awkward situation for everyone around the table, and they’d make confused eye contact with me for about two seconds. Whilst I may have shed many of the customs from my childhood in England, the fact I’d rather be hit by a truck than have a mild confrontation with my peers is certainly not one of those.

Somebody said the name “Masu”, and the people who had once been as composed as sages began screeching like apes. I could barely contain my laughter again, as one of the boys from my class waggled a finger at somebody I hardly knew.

“Hitoshi, I’d been trying to get with her for months, and she sends you a LINE message out of the blue?! What’s your problem!”

I lost myself in the eager conversation, the laughter, the joy. Though I hardly said a word, it felt like an invisible world had opened to me, if only a glimpse. The intimacy of conversations, references spanning months - if not years. It triggered a hunger in me that I never understood: I hungered for this! Connections like these, meaningless conversations! I thanked my instincts earlier for speaking up, and as people began to pay and make their way out, I tossed my bag around my shoulder and walked towards the cafe counter. I bowed my head slightly.

“Excuse me, Mr. and Mrs. Shimizu. Your son told me that you might have work available for someone with baking skills?”. I focused intensely on my speech: with the weird way my jaw was positioned, I needed to focus when I spoke so that I didn’t make a weird change in tone that sounded like I was mocking them. Although approaching somebody’s parents for the first time to make strange mocking noises before immediately leaving would have been hilarious, I am unfortunately not that funny nor impolite.

Mr. Shimizu’s face squeezed into a warm smile, and he nodded his head. “That’s right, we’ve been quite hard pressed over here! Truth be told, business hasn’t been doing so well since a group of our last employees left. You know how it is!”

No, sir, I am a teenager. I do not know what it is like for my employees to all leave me.

“Of course,” I replied, nodding my head in response. “Do you have any information about when I can start or what I should wear?”

Mr. Shumizu opened his mouth to speak, but his wife made a nonchalant gesture with her hand. “Oh, you can come in here tomorrow after school, he’ll show you everything. You’re Hideki’s friend, so it’s not like we have to be all formal!

I’m not sure if Hideki would have described me as a friend, but if I’m so charming that I can give that impression by sitting around a table and nodding, then I’ve clearly got something going for me. At any rate, making good first impressions is surprisingly not my strong suit, so I was genuinely glad I managed when it came to someone important.

The next day after school I tried to retrace my steps and find the cafe, although I was mortified to learn that spending half my time building model ships in a dirty bedroom didn’t actually make me a good navigator. It didn’t help that I partially forgot the name of the cafe, and that there was another business with a very similar name. It’s like I warned you at the start - I really don’t know how to spell.

Fortunately, I did eventually find the cafe. The waitress who winced at me the day before was cleaning the outdoor tables, and seemed lost in her own world, repetitively circling a cloth around the tables. I slowed down my pace slightly, expecting her to suddenly notice me and introduce herself, but you can only step so slowly before seeming slightly deranged to any passers-by. Slightly defeated, I opened the door, and made my way to the counter.

“Ah! The boy who wanted to start here, yes?” Mrs. Shimizu walked over to me with an enthusiasm unusual for a woman that looked as old as her. “What’s your name? You never told me when you came in. Come, come along to the back, we have some spare uniforms that might fit you!”

The nonchalance with which she said the outfits might fit me made me want to laugh, especially considering my physique is totally unremarkable. But, being the polite person I was, I held in my amusement, and politely replied.

“Oh, I’m so sorry! My name is Yamasaki Yorito. And, while I’m here, what’s the name of the waitress? She works very hard, doesn’t she?”

She made an approving noise. “You think? That’s Una. Her parents sent her to live with us, so we’re making her earn her keep!”

I couldn’t tell if the “You think?” was meant to be sarcastic or genuine, but I continued walking along with her until she opened a cupboard full of uniforms. It was at that moment I understood exactly what she meant by the clothes ‘maybe’ being able to fit. The male uniforms were all size XL, for some reason. Why did a cafe this size even need so many uniforms? As I pulled out one of the uniforms, I came to realise that it resembled a tent more than a shirt.

“My husband bought them in bulk. They’re cheaper that way!”

I nodded, pretending that explanation made any sense whatsoever, and went to the bathroom to put it on. I walked out, and Mrs. Shimizu smiled widely.

“You look so handsome in the uniform! My husband’s just in the other room, would you like to move over there so he can show you around?”

Yesterday in the cafe, half my class was arguing how to impress girls. Today in the cafe, I learned the secret is to dress like a parachute.

Mr. Shimizu showed me around the kitchen, although it became fairly clear he didn’t do too much in there. Still, he eased me in with some fairly simple introductory tasks, and then told me to clean the place up with a mop once I was done. Considering Una was cleaning tables earlier, I was somewhat surprised she didn’t join in with me. I briefly saw her carry plates and cups over, but she seemed far too busy for me to introduce myself, so I limited my conversation to a brief “Hi”. I don’t remember if she responded or not, come to think of it.

As fewer and fewer customers made their way in, I began to look around me and let my mind wander. To be honest, it was my first full-time job, and I wasn’t used to doing things I didn’t choose to do for so long. To that you might ask, “what about school?”, but I’m one of those sick freaks who actually enjoys learning new things.

I mean, of course I chose to work here, but I suppose I hadn’t got to bake anything yet on my first day, and I sort of expected there to be more employees, or more people to talk to. But just as I was about to slip into another mindless daydream, I heard a door glide open, as Una leaned in, looking at my shoes. Now that she was actually in front of me, I could see her more clearly. She was about my age, and had short, neat hair.

“Hey. Yamasaki,” she said in a very matter-of-fact tone. I looked down at my own shoes, wondering if I had stepped in something.

I wanted to ask her to introduce herself, but my eyes were still too busy scanning my shoes for dirt for me to dedicate any brain power to social interactions.

“Hey. Yamasaki,” she said again, in the exact same tone. This time, I looked up at her eyes, which were not looking at mine.

“What’s the matter?” I asked. Usually if a woman is this eager to get my attention, I’ve made some sort of mistake.

“Follow me,” she said. “They want you at the counter”.

“Ah,” I replied.