A Glass Half Full
Dragging my feet along the ground as the tiresome faces of my new 4th hour turned and peered with judgment, when the teacher barked at me for being late. Sitting down the smell of old burnt food and the cleaning supplies lying around, but also the scent of fields or flowers that was her perfume filled my nose.
At first, the class seemed as if a foreign place full of strange people who all seemed bored, and angry that they had to attend. A month into school and the teacher said she picked six people who would then pick who they wanted to be in their kitchen. Khloe got selected as one of the six, and she chose me. Thinking nothing of it got up, and went over to my new partner and we started to prepare to cook.
As the thin blade of the knife sliced through the tomatoes as the juice squirted out, and out of the corner of my eye she was watching me chop up the vegetables. As smooth as an adolescent is, when I tried looking back at her the knife took a jagged left turn slicing into my thumb. Then I started to mumble about how stupid this class, and how much I hated cooking because it was my job, and it came with lousy pay, nasty burns, and stinging cuts. She told me that it was not all that bad because to her a man that could cook and had money would have her attention. Her smile widened as she said, "I mean, I like watching you do it, maybe you could cook and take care of me. And I will take care of the cuts and burns that come with it".
The warm air hit my face as I stepped down from my truck, and I looked at the beautiful sky during the evening only to think that this is the glimpse for the rest of the night. Work was nothing but upsetting, the long tiresome hours, in a stuffy kitchen, and the rage-filled employees.
The apron still felt like grease and grime even after it had been washed. Fryers filled the air with the loud popping sound of french fries, mozzarella sticks, and chicken wings, the dinner rush was coming to an end, but the...