Gref Rangerson, a down on luck waiter. (Hard Mode.)

How oh how did I become such a failure? Not that I don’t know the answer: it’s my own damn fault. At 18 went to university to become a programmer. Fumbled about for a few years not because it was hard, but because I simply didn’t want to put the elbow grease into it. Got the boot at 22. Father found out at 24 and followed suit.

Now I’m 28, I live in a studio apartment on a feeble salary of a waiter in a shady bar-restaurant in the basement of the biggest library in the city. “The Dark Embrace”. Exactly the kind of place that just pulls the worst people in.

“Are you sure you can’t even take out the trash on your way out?” I ask into the ether already knowing the answer again. Nothing. But the barely shorter than me girl in black blouse, black skirt that barely reaches halfway to her knees, black knee-high leather boots, black hair, and black makeup decides to grace me with a few parting words:

“You can’t be serious. You want _me _to take _that _dripping sack of shit? In these clothes?! Ew.” And just like that Lucy, the goth waitress that never did anything in my presence, left her work 30 minutes before the end of her shift. Again.

Before I was able to sigh, bite the bullet, and take care of the garbage myself, a pair of delicate fingers snapped in front of my face and the air got filled with the sound of frostbite and french accent: “Oi! Useless boy! Table 3 is ready! Hop to it!”

I did hop to it without looking at the beautiful ice queen that was our chef Veronica. I learned it the hard way that she didn’t like when I took in her blonde locks and slim perfect figure. Or when I said anything to her. Or breathed the same air she was breathing. The only thing stopping her from being angry all the time is understanding that she really can’t do anything about that 3rd point. Yet.

Veronica bossed me about this way and that and before I knew it another danger came. “Don’t worry baby boy! Mommy is here!” I dropped the dishes I was bringing in for cleaning as I tried to not let my body flee as far as I possibly could. Becka: a 5’ tall capital M MILF, a 37 year old brunette doing her best to look younger and almost succeeding. Her plump ass and full chest with plenty of cleavage were definitely one of the draws of “The Dark Embrace”.

The only problem is that she treats me like a baby. Not a kid. A baby. “Good job so far, baby boy!” She said when she finally caught up to me and ruffled my hair. “You can be so dependable sometimes! I'll change your diapers later!”

Then a few minutes later she grabbed me by the ear and dragged me to the garbage bins. “Gref. What is this?” She trusted my face towards the still sitting trash bags. “What is this young man?!” I didn’t answer, only trying to wiggle out of her grip without hurting her. “It’s your job to get rid of trash before I come to work. This deserves a punishment!”

Stars flew out of my eyes as her palm hit my bottom. I reacted on instinct and pushed her away. A loud crash followed. And as I opened my eyes I saw her sprawling on the ground, silverware everywhere, with tears running from her eyes…