When her first shift at the Malate branch came, she arrived early.The place was brighter, livelier, filled with chatter, laughter, and the smoky scent of roasted meat from the open grill near the window. Waiters wove between tables with trays balanced on practiced hands. A few foreigners sat near the bar, the soft hum of Taglish conversations blending with the sound of sizzling oil.
The manager, a plump woman with a kind but sharp tone, handed Jessica her apron and tray. “Customers here are picky,” she said, adjusting her glasses. “Always smile, even if they’re rude. Especially the ones who look rich.”
Jessica nodded, forcing a polite grin even as her stomach twisted.
She threw herself into the work. Lunch rush bled into dinner service. She cleaned tables, took orders, ran receipts, car
