The Resturant

Unable to find a job in her field, Jaycee had accepted a waitress position at a local restaurant to tide herself over financially. The job certainly did not pay very well, minimum wage in fact, but the restaurant's owner struck Jaycee as funny and easy-going (and even kind of cute in a silver fox sort of way), so the girl took it. It was not like she had many better options, at least not until she found a position that was relevant to her newly-minted degree.

Jaycee studies her stunning self in the mirror. Her work uniform is basic: a black polo shirt baring her employer's logo on the left breast complemented by pair of light-wash, mid-rise blue jeans. Nevertheless, with her silky vanilla skin, cascading umber hair, intoxicating chestnut pupils, and unarguably ample assets, Jaycee makes it look really, really sexy. She flashes a good girl smile to her reflection, the same warm expression she will soon use to greet diners, grabs her keys, and walks out her front door.

The girl is about halfway to work, stopping at a red light, when a sinking feeling is born in her stomach. She had forgotten something. Jaycee locates her phone and wallet. She is very confused for a split second, but then it hits her. She feels her body, desperately hoping that her hypothesis is proven wrong. It isn't.

Jaycee has no time to return to her house. Her inaugural shift is about to get really, really interesting.