Waiting For Delivery

CHAPTER THREE

It was one of those days when exhaustion clung to my skin like Phuket’s humidity. The morning shift had drained every bit of energy I had left, and by the time I kicked off my shoes at the dormitory, all I could think about was food.

But the fridge had other plans. Our usual stash of instant meals—gone. No tuna, no microwave rice, not even a sad pack of seaweed sheets. Lea peeked over my shoulder and groaned.

“Ano ba ‘yan, gutom na nga ako, wala pang laman ‘tong ref. Wala na tayong stock.”

“Order na lang muna tayo? 7-Eleven na lang, para mabilis,” Janine suggested, already tapping through the app. “Baka sakaling may nag-stock na ulit.”

And so we did. Just a few things—egg sandwich, milk, cup noodles, those cream-filled buns we all silently loved but never admitted.

By 4 PM, the doorbell buzzed. I was still half-lying on the couch, head in Janine’s throw pillow, when Lea called out.

“Uy, ikaw na kumuha! Kanina pa ako nagsi-scroll ng Shopee eh.”

I grumbled under my breath, dragging myself to the door in my worn pajama shorts and oversized shirt.

Then I opened it—and there he was again.

The 7-Eleven delivery guy.

Still in that neon green jacket, still wearing those thick glasses that slipped slightly down the bridge of his nose. His hair was messier today, like he’d run his fingers through it a hundred times. But his nails—neatly trimmed. His skin, golden tan and warm like late afternoon sun. His gaze didn’t hold too long, but just enough to make my chest tighten unexpectedly.

He glanced at the paper bag in his hand, then up at me.

He spoke first, in Thai. Something quick and routine.

His voice was low. Nice. A little rough at the edges.

I blinked, froze for a second, then quickly shook my head.

“Ah—no Thai. Sorry.”

His eyes widened just a little, and for a split second, he looked like he wanted to disappear into the pavement. Then he nodded quickly, fumbling for English.

“Uh… this… delivery. Food. For you,” he said, holding the bag forward with both hands. “Order… from 7-Eleven.”

The corner of his mouth twitched, unsure if he was doing okay or embarrassing himself entirely.

I took the bag, fingers brushing his lightly. “Yes, thank you.”

He nodded again, eyes flickering to mine, then away.

“Okay… finish,” he said softly. “Have… good… afternoon.”

“Thanks. You too.”

He gave a tiny bow—awkward but sincere—and turned to head back to his bike.

I stood at the door a little longer than I needed to. Watching him adjust his helmet, glancing once over his shoulder like maybe he felt the same weird hum in the air that I did.

“Hoy, gutom na kami! Kain na tayo!” Lea shouted from the back.

I blinked, finally closing the door.

“Coming!” I called out, walking back inside.

But my thoughts? They didn’t come back with me. They stayed by that door, with the guy whose name I still didn’t know—but whose voice had already settled somewhere quietly in my memory.

Work day, again.

The kitchen was already buzzing by 5:30 AM.

Steam rose from trays of fried rice and stir-fried vegetables. Someone was slicing fruit too fast, and the faint echo of someone saying "Where's the spatula?!" bounced against the tiled walls.

I was at the buffet counter, aligning silver chafing dishes like I was preparing for a food war.

“Hoy, natapon na naman yung chili sauce,” I muttered, grabbing a paper towel just as a small stream of red started sliding off the edge.

From the kitchen, Lea's voice rang out.

“Hindi ako ‘yon ha! Si Janine ‘yan!”

“Excuse me?!” Janine peeked from behind the counter, holding a half-peeled cucumber and a glare. “Ikaw nga ‘yung huling gumamit ng bote!”

“Ewan, basta hindi ako. May ginagawa akong importanteng bagay, ‘di tulad ng—”

“Guys,” I laughed, interrupting. “Can we fight after breakfast rush? Gusto ko pa mabuhay today.”

They snorted. The air smelled like toasted bread and mild panic.

By 6:50 AM, everything was (mostly) in place. The buffet trays were full, the juice dispensers gurgled obediently, and someone remembered to refill the butter just in time.

We had ten minutes before the guests started walking in.

Lea leaned on the edge of the kitchen pass, wiping her hands. “Grabe, parang Survivor Thailand ‘to, breakfast edition.”

Janine sat on a milk crate by the door. “I forgot to put the name tag sa ham tray. Pano na, mystery meat na lang?”

We burst into giggles.

“Baka naman ma-excite pa sila,” I grinned. “Like, ‘Oooh, what’s this pinkish thing? So exotic!’”

Just then, one of the Thai kitchen staff, P’Mai, passed by holding a ladle.

“คุณลืมวางข้าวต้ม!”

(Khun luem wang khaotom!)

"You forgot to put the rice porridge out!"

We froze.

“Ay—wait, wait, wait!” I scrambled to the warmer, quickly sliding in the forgotten tray.

“Saved by P’Mai,” Lea whispered. “As always.”

By 7AM, the buffet opened. Guests trickled in like hungry waves. The next three hours became a blur of refilling trays, dodging spills, smiling through requests like "Can I get gluten-free soy sauce?" and reminding one another to hydrate.

Still, despite the chaos, we found little moments.

P’Toon, one of the Thai F&B guys, leaned toward me mid-rush, grinning.

“You strong! No stop, huh?”

I laughed, breathless. “No choice!”

He laughed too, wiping his forehead. “Same, same.”

Lea snuck past us with a tray of clean mugs. “Hala kayo d’yan. Ako, dalawa na ang nai-spill ko. Yung isa sa harap pa ng guest. Pero smile pa rin, syempre.”

Janine, from across the counter, called out, “Dapat may award tayo mamaya. Best in Smiling Through It All.”

Just as we were starting to breathe again—buffet half-empty, guests finally trickling out—an unexpected clang! echoed from the back kitchen.

“Ay—s**t!” Lea shouted from inside.

I turned quickly, heart jumping. “Anong nangyari?!”

Janine peeked in and gasped, then burst out laughing. “Lea! Ba’t ka basang sisiw?!”

I rushed in behind her—and there was Lea, standing in a puddle of ice water, soaked from knees down, a stack of clear pitcher lids clattering beside her.

She held up one hand like a traffic enforcer. “Wag kayong tumawa! Natisod ako sa sarili kong paa, okay?!”

P’Mai came rushing in with a mop. “น้ำหกอีกแล้วเหรอ?”

(Nam hok ik laeo rue?) – "Water spill again?"

Lea gave her a sheepish smile. “Sorry, P’Mai… slippery like my life choices.”

I handed her a clean towel from the shelf. “Ito, para sa dignity mo.”

Janine was still cackling behind me. “Diyos ko, Lea. May swimming pool na dito sa kitchen!”

“Hay nako,” Lea groaned, starting to dry off her sneakers. “Sabihin niyo na lang—at least malamig.”

P’Toon popped his head in with a sly grin. “Want towel? Or lifeguard?”

We all laughed—loud, exhausted, too tired to care.

And just like that, the moment dissolved into teasing and snorts and water being mopped up as we all helped get things back in order.

It was ridiculous. So unnecessary. But so necessary, too.

We were tired. Hungry. Stressed.

But we were still together in it.

And that made everything feel… lighter.

We made it to lunch with sore legs and growling stomachs. The dining area had thinned out, the breakfast storm finally over. We sat in the staff pantry with our bowls of Thai basil chicken and fried egg—simple, oily, perfect.

“Did you guys see the guest kanina with the hat na may parang buong garden?” Lea asked, mouth full.

“Yes! Like, sobrang laki! I thought may event siya or photoshoot!” Janine laughed.

“Akala ko nga staff from the spa,” I added. “Turns out normal guest lang. Chill na chill. Pero sosyal.”

“Also, the guy who asked if we served ‘air-fried’ bacon?” Janine raised an eyebrow. “Saan natin lulutuin? Sa hangin?”

We all cracked up.

But some stories were softer, too.

“Yung isang lolo, ‘yung Japanese? He said ‘Thank you, nice smile.’ Tapos nag-bow pa,” I said quietly.

Lea smiled. “Nakakagaan din ng loob no, kahit pagod?”

Janine nodded. “Oo. Kahit saglit lang. Parang… worth it ‘yung pagod.”

We chewed in silence for a bit, tired but full—not just with food, but with that kind of satisfaction that only comes from surviving another crazy morning, together.

Outside, the sun was higher now. The kitchen was calmer. But inside that small pantry, we were loud again. Laughing. Teasing. Eating like we hadn’t just run a marathon.

And for a few quiet minutes, everything was exactly where it should be.