Waiting For Delivery

CHAPTER ONE

The sunlight in Thailand felt different—warmer, heavier, as if it soaked into your skin rather than just touching it. I woke to the sound of a motorcycle zooming past the dormitory and the faint clatter of things from outside of my room. For a second, I forgot where I was. Then I sat up, saw the unfamiliar ceiling above me, and it all came rushing back.

My roommates were already stirring. Janine was brushing her hair near the mirror, and Lea was flipping through a notebook filled with Thai phrases.

“Morning!” I said, stretching with a yawn.

“Hey!” Janine smiled. “You sleep okay?”

“I did. Kind of. I think the mattress and I are still trying to be friends.”

We all laughed. It was strange how quickly we were becoming comfortable—like survival mode had bonded us.

A brief orientation had been scheduled at the nearby office of our employer. Around mid-morning, we walked there together, a small group of fresh hires in newly issued uniforms. The company staff welcomed us with warm smiles and strong Thai coffee.

“Good morning everyone,” said Ms. Pattama, the HR manager. She spoke in fluent English with a crisp, professional tone. “Today is just to go over your contracts, work schedules, and dormitory rules. You will start your duties tomorrow.”

Janine leaned toward me and whispered, “I feel like I’m in school again.”

I stifled a laugh.

They explained our daily hours, expectations, and safety protocols. We were each handed a company ID, name tag, and a map of the hotel layout. Most of it was straightforward, but the nerves in my stomach grew louder the more they talked about "real work" starting tomorrow.

After the meeting, we were free for the day. That afternoon, my two roommates and I decided to go grocery shopping.

We walked down the road to a nearby Lotus’s supermarket, laughing at how fast everything moved around us. Scooters and street vendors shouted in Thai, the air thick with the smell of grilled meat, fried garlic, and the salty sea in the distance.

“I feel like I’m in a K-drama, but the Thai version,” Lea said, pushing our cart. “Except instead of a handsome CEO, I’m shopping for laundry detergent.”

“Speak for yourself,” Janine joked. “I’m here hoping to meet a mysterious man in aisle seven.”

“I just want good shampoo,” I added. “Everything else is a bonus.”

As we walked the aisles, we shared bits of ourselves—like little puzzle pieces fitting into place.

“I don’t eat spicy food,” Lea admitted. “I know we’re in Thailand, but I’ll literally cry.”

“That’s going to be a problem,” Janine teased. “Everything here has chili—even the snacks!”

I smiled. “I don’t mind cooking. I can do it sometimes for us, as long as you guys wash the dishes.”

“Deal,” they both said in unison.

By the time we walked back to the dorm, we were carrying way too many bags and laughing about how we forgot basic things—like garbage bags and hangers.

That night, we rearranged our tiny room together, assigned laundry days, and made plans to explore on our next day off. Everything still felt foreign—but now, it was also starting to feel like home.

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The Grand Shoreline Hotel, Phuket

I woke up before my alarm. My uniform hung neatly at the edge of the closet, pressed and ready. My nerves, on the other hand, were anything but. I stared at myself in the mirror—tie crooked, eyes wide.

“You’ll be fine,” Janine said, adjusting her own collar. “We’ve trained for this.”

I nodded, but my stomach disagreed. We arrived at the hotel by 8:00 AM, the company van pulling into the staff entrance. The building looked even grander up close—glass, marble, and gold accents everywhere.

Inside, we were introduced to department heads one by one.

“F&B team, this is Ms. Somchai,” the coordinator said, gesturing toward a petite woman with a clipboard. “She’s your supervisor.”

Ms. Somchai gave a polite smile. “Welcome. I hope you are ready to work hard. F&B is the heart of hospitality. We don’t just serve food—we serve experience.”

“Yes, ma’am,” we said in chorus, trying to sound braver than we felt.

We were then given a short tour of the restaurant, kitchen, banquet hall, and staff areas. I couldn’t keep up with all the names and corners.

“Try not to get lost on your first day,” one of the Thai waiters said with a grin.

“I’m just trying not to drop a tray,” I replied. He laughed, and just like that, the tension eased a bit.

My shift was a blur—learning to fold napkins the hotel’s way, shadowing an experienced server during lunch, and memorizing table numbers that made zero sense. I mispronounced a dish, poured too much water once, and tripped slightly when someone called my name in Thai.

But no disasters. Just nerves, awkward moments, and a few kind smiles that helped.

The Hotel wasn’t grand or towering, but it had its own kind of charm.

Tucked between a line of palm trees and just a few steps from the turquoise stretch of beach, it looked like something off a brochure—sleek glass doors, white stone pathways, and a lobby that always smelled faintly of lemongrass and fresh linen. It wasn’t a five-star chain, but for tourists looking for a quiet escape in Phuket, it did the job—and then some.

To us, it was work. A place of never-ending check-ins, sweaty uniforms, and trying to smile through 10-hour shifts. But it was also where we learned things no orientation could ever prepare us for—like how to carry five plates without dropping one, or how to say "Welcome" in three different accents without sounding robotic.

The F&B Department was its own universe. Mornings were a blur of breakfast buffets and spilled coffee. Afternoons slowed just a little—until a big group reservation threw everything off balance. We moved like clockwork, synchronized by necessity, bonded not just by the job, but by the chaos we faced together.

There were times the AC broke. Sometimes a guest would complain over a slightly wrinkled napkin. Times we wanted to scream into the linen closet.

But there were also quiet mornings by the poolside bar. Kind guests who left tips and thank-you notes. And stolen seconds of laughter in the pantry over reheated rice and pancit canton.

We never really called it home. But after a while, it became part of our rhythm, like background music to our ever-shifting lives in a foreign land.

At the end of the shift, we all gathered outside by the company van again, exhausted.

As we drove back to the dorm, the sun had already dipped behind the hills. The van was filled with quiet chatter and soft music from the driver’s radio.

“Okay,” Janine said as we stepped back into our room. “Let’s talk. First day debrief!”

“I spilled sauce on my apron and tried to clean it with soda water,” Lea said dramatically. “Didn’t work. Just made it worse.”

“I accidentally walked into the kitchen thinking it was the locker room,” I added. “Two chefs saw me and just... stared.”

“I sneezed while taking an order,” Janine confessed. “Right into my elbow—but I still panicked. The guests looked terrified.”

We burst out laughing. Somehow, sharing our little disasters made them feel smaller—almost sweet.

It wasn’t perfect. But it was our first day. And we survived.