Obsession

Honestly, I’ve never hated people so much in my life before, and I used to love people. I thought getting a job waiting tables would be fun, I thought this would be a great way to pay off my student debt while I look for writing jobs, a neat way to meet people, and learn about business, but no. None of those things is true. It’s a great way to go crazy very quickly, to fuck up your sleeping pattern, to work super hard without any kind of reward and to hate people. All kinds of people.

If I didn’t need the money I would have quit this job weeks ago, but here I am still, the tail end of an economic crisis that hit just as I came out of college, a country where unemployment has always been rife in the arts sector and now even more so than anywhere else, and a city where rent has gone through the roof. I have a degree in English and business, and I’ve had my work showcased in a number of highly regarded newspapers and magazines, but can I get a job anywhere but a hipster restaurant that puts emphasis on looking good over common sense? Can I fuck.

I take dessert to the three guys and smile while I do so, because smiling, apparently, is a sure-fire way of getting a good tip.

Obviously, my attempts at good nature are misinterpreted, though, and because quite a large amount of alcohol has been consumed, there doesn’t seem to be a filter on what they say to me.

“Doing anything later?” one of them asks me.

“Going home”, I respond.

“You know, we don’t live far from here, why don’t you come home with us?”

I laugh off the comment.

“Seriously”, one of the other guys says, his eyes all over my tits. “You look like the kind of girl who likes that kind of thing.”

This is the kind of thing I have to put up with on a daily basis. I don’t mind direct men, what I can’t tolerate are men that are disrespectful. The first time someone said something disrespectful to me, I threw a glass of water in his face and got a warning from my manager. Now, I’m so desensitized to it all, I just let it slide.

I laugh it off. “Anything else I can get for you guys?”

“Not unless you want to show us your tits.”

I can hardly believe what I’m hearing. You’d think this kind of stuff stopped happening to women years ago, and it wouldn’t be something that would normally take place here, in a posh, modern restaurant, but sadly it happens way more than I’ll like to admit.

It’s embarrassing and upsetting and all I can do is walk away while I know they’ll be watching my ass wiggle in this ridiculously short skirt as I do so.

We are made to wear uniforms that show off our best assets, as our sleazy manager puts it, which is frankly fucking ridiculous.

I know that looking presentable is important, but there is a huge difference between presentable and fuckable, and I have respect for myself and my body. That doesn’t mean I’m not the kind of person who enjoys sex, and sexy situations, quite the opposite actually, it just means I don’t like being exploited, and here in the restaurant, in my place of work, I feel exactly that. Like I’m on fucking display.

The three guys are the last in the restaurant before close, and their attempts to woo me get so intimidating at one point, I have to take a break, tell the manager and get them warned, which he’s reluctant to do. Finally, they leave, drunk, chastised in the lightest way possible, and one hundred percent without me.

With the doors closed the manager gives me a talking to about how to best treat our customers in order to keep them coming back, and I nearly quit then and there. I’m a strong person but even I’m getting worn down by this shit day in day out.

Two o’clock in the fucking morning and I’m back in here for early shift. I haven’t written a thing in what feels like months, and that expose article I’ve been planning on this city’s underground fighting rings is still nothing more than a handful of half-written sentences and stuff that might not even be true.

I’m weary and I hate it. I also feel more alone here that I have done in a long time. I’ve been single for what feels like ages, and even though I keep getting propositions like the ones from those three douche-balls in the restaurant, it feels like such a long time since I’ve met a decent, real man. I’m not ancient, but I’m not getting any younger either. I’m thinking about kids of my own one day, and I’d like to find the man who has the balls enough to provide that for me, not boys who think that telling you you’ve got a great ass is the only way they are going to conquer you.

I should get a cab home at this hour, but I don’t want to waste the cash. This part of the city can get a little seedy at night time, but I live close to here and I’ve never had any problem.

When I hear a voice behind me, however, I immediately regret that decision. My blood runs cold in my body and my heart skips a beat, and within less than a couple of seconds, all three of them are up alongside me.

Liam

Two thousand dollars and a swollen hand isn’t a bad night at all.

I could have made it three fights, but the second one took it out of me, and the third was a random, last minute entry I didn’t want to risk and I’m glad I didn’t because the man who stepped up in my place was taken apart in less time it took him to do up his laces. I could have beaten him, but the injuries wouldn’t have made it worthwhile so I just watched instead and took notes for next time.

I’m on the way home when I see her, practically running down the street, three big men around her like bees fighting to get nectar out of a flower.

She’s a gorgeous thing as well, but nothing about this situation looks good to me. It’s the middle of the night, the streets are deserted, this is not a good neighborhood anyway and she doesn’t look like she’s with them at all. She looks like she’s trying to run away and can’t.

I wasn’t going to fight again, and my hand could do with some ice, but I can’t let this pass. Bad things happen to women all over this city and I’m not prepared to let that happen here.

I go over, quickly, and I’m up in front of them blocking their way before they have a chance to react.

Three men, but nothing I haven’t come up against before, and, anyway, I’m not here to fight, I’m here to find out what they fuck they are doing intimidating someone who’s just finished work and is on their way home. I could smell the alcohol from the other side of the street, and now I can see the badge on the work uniform under her coat, the situation makes absolute sense.

I hate people that think they can intimidate others. I’m conscious of that myself around women, and even though I’m not that big, I’m wiry and muscular and extremely powerful.

At least two of these three guys look like they go to the gym, but lifting weights and making muscle isn’t the same as knowing how to use it.

“Everything alright?” I say casually.

“Everything’s fine”, the biggest guy says back to me.

“I wasn’t asking you”, I say directing my question again to the girl, who from here I can see is absolutely stunning. “Are you alright?”

“I was before these guys decided to try and walk me home, yeah.”

“Just trying to be friendly”, the scrawniest of the guys says, his eyes shifty.

“I think she’s fine without you”, I say.

“That’s none of your business”, the big guy says.

“I’m going home”, the girl says, her hands up in the air passively.

“A young girl out here on her own, anything can happen”, the big guy says, reaching for her wrist. “Best we make sure she gets home okay.”

The girl tries to pull her hand away but the guy won’t let her, and suddenly the situation has changed between us. I sigh, look at the girl and then work out how best to play this.

“You don’t want to do that”, I say.

“Leave”, the scrawny guy says, stepping towards me with a switchblade held prone.

This is ridiculous. I’ve seen some crazy stuff on the streets before, and been in situations similar to this, but these guys are clearly drunk and even

though there are three of them and they are armed, they have no idea what I’m capable of. Where do they think I’ve come from at this time of night?

Talk about fucking stupid.

The girl looks scared, which is pretty understandable considering there are four guys surrounding her, one of which has a knife and the other a hand around her wrist.

“Last chance”, I say, the tension palpable between us.

Big guy and his gym buddy look at each other and laugh. “Don’t be fucking stupid”, gym buddy says and comes for me.

It isn’t pretty, but fighting never is, street fighting even less so. I try and make it quick, but even then it’s impossible to avoid the odd shocking injury. By the time the big guy hits the deck, scrawny guy has run away, and gym buddy has been completely neutralized with one bone-crunching punch, the pretty girl is half way down the street, running for her life.

I should probably leave her to it, especially now the threat has been removed, but something about her makes me want to make sure she’s absolutely, one-hundred percent okay. One conversation to confirm it and I’m on my way. These guys can wallow in their own blood and piss for all I care, right now, my attention is needed elsewhere.