My Lucky Day, or Is It? (Part 1)

An endless row of dirty glasses, tall cups, crystal bowls, and other metal containers line the icy metal kitchen countertop. I sigh at the sight of so many dirty dishes laying mockingly in the sink for me to wash, which will take me the majority of the night. I know my hands will crack and bleed from overworking them in the chemical soapy water, but I can’t complain, I can’t scream, and I certainly cannot whine.

I wholly depend on this washing job to earn enough money to pay back my debt to Mr. Green. With this thought in mind it makes me work more diligently, and I polish the glasses two times as quickly. Using my sopping faded grey rag, I whisper my soothing rhythmic washing pattern aloud.

“Wash, wipe, polish, dry. Wash, wipe, polish, dry.”

The awful stench of alcohol drifts from each glass, but I have no choice but to continue washing, wiping, polishing, and drying. Working at Tony’s Lucky Pub was not at all what I had signed up for my long awaited summer vacation. I had plans to spend carefree hours lounging in my bed watching horror movies on Netflix with my pet rabbit, Miss Thumpers; Miss T for short.

After teaching a rambunctious English class of incoming freshmen, I was more than ready to spend my summer days reading books from my ‘Books To Read This Summer’ list and preparing the curriculum for next year’s class.

Unfortunately, all the above was cut tragically short due to my carelessness when I crashed into my neighbor's car on my return from the grocery store. To be honest, the crash wasn't as bad as Mr. Green made it out to be. Sure, when the incident occurred I might have been daydreaming about my summer plans, and I guess I wasn’t thinking straight when my car ran straight into his car.

According to Mr. Green’s point of view, he was backing out of his driveway when I sped down Jay Street and rammed into his car’s rear end. The damage wasn’t too bad; just a smashed license plate and some chipped off paint.

After all, it could have been much worse, I told Mr. Green. The result of my retort was immediate. His face grew a bit too pink, contrasting to his name, and his dwarfish height with the additional bonus of wild hand gestures made him look so silly that I had to suppress myself from laughing.

During his rant about his low opinion of today’s young people, like myself, I continued to nod in a serious businesslike manner so as not to offend him. However, the only intelligible part of his speech was when he promised that he wouldn’t tell anyone, not even my parents, if I agreed to work for the remainder of the summer for his grandson, Tony, at his restaurant and pay for his car’s damage.

Technically, Tony owns a makeshift bar and casino where customers mainly drink and spend all their money on the few game slots that he owns, not a restaurant by my definition. It’s a pretty smart set-up if I do say so myself: his customers will get high on drinking, they’ll pay for the bright yellow tickets that might give them a chance to win on the slots, and then the cycle will repeat.

From my experience, Tony’s a pretty clever and charming sort of fellow but after getting to know him more, he’s not the type of person that will retain friendships as often as he makes them.

Tony and I go way back, but all that’s important between us is that he did some terrible things to my younger sister, Ariana. He bribed her to do some nasty and inappropriate things and threatened that if she told anyone about what he was doing, she would be done for.

 Short story short, Ariana eventually confessed to me what was happening between her and Tony, and I got the parentals involved. His infamy toward my sister ceased at once, but I’m sure that he’s never forgotten what took place.

Being in this situation, Mr. Green left me no choice than to agree to his offer and begin working with Tony. While wiping a tall tinted blue glass, I sigh at my present circumstance and feel genuine pity and sorrow for myself. All my summer hopes and dreams dashed to pieces because of one simple error.

The swinging door that separates the kitchen and bar swings opens and in walks Tony Green with his confident attitude and dark eyes. His smooth black hair perches symmetrically on top of his head and his pearly white teeth flashes even in the kitchen’s dim lights.

“Get movin’ runt, we need more glasses up front,” he barks in a commanding tone which disagrees with his attractive physical appearance.

I bare my teeth to suppress myself from speaking back to him. My fists urge me to throw punches at his elegant cocky face, and I use every bit of self-restraint I have to control my temper.

It’s nearly impossible for me to control my emotions, but I can at least control my mouth, somewhat. Bubbling with anger I manage to lay my soggy rag on the counter in a tranquil manner and say two words in a controlled tone,

“I quit.” I take off my stained apron, grab my light sweater off one of the hooks, and begin gathering my purse. Tony is speechless.

“Thank you very much for letting me work here, Tony; I really appreciate it. But since this was my last shift, I’d like my weekly salary now.” He hands me a couple of crumpled ten dollar bills from his pocket while gaping openmouthed at his employee’s courage. Once I recount the bills to make sure Tony hasn’t cheated me on my payment, I nod.

“Thank you very much and have a great rest of your night.” I politely tip my head and walk out of Tony’s Lucky Pub for the last time.

***

My quitting occurred so suddenly that even I was amazed at my utter luck at escaping Tony without a struggle. I feel so cheerful on my arrival at my quaint house on Jay Street, I practically skip to my front door and hum my favorite song joyfully even though it is one in the morning and my neighborhood is still pitch black.

I smile from ear to ear as I enter my house and flick on a light switch in my entryway to illuminate the hallway entrance. I feel unstoppable as if I could do anything; I could join the circus for all I cared.

I hear a shuffling of papers crinkling beneath my feet, and I investigate for the source of the sound. Still wearing my sweater and purse, I pick up a colorful advertisement on my ‘Welcome’ doormat.

It’s a small slip of paper that’s featuring a vacation to Hawaii for a fifty percent discount. I can do anything now that I’m no longer under Tony employment and with him no longer in my life I am free to do as I please. An escape away from home is exactly what I need to quiet my adventurous notions and take a break from the world, I think.

I call my parents about my vacation proposal and they groggily agree to it, complaining about my unnecessary call at one in the morning and grumbling throughout the conversation that they were very upset that it wasn't an emergency.

Once all the details are settled that very night, I go to sleep in a flurry of excitement. Laying in my bed and snuggled up with Miss T, I ponder over my good fortune.

Life is good, and I’m off to the Aloha state, baby.

***

“Room number seventy six… here you go, madam. I believe all your baggage is here, correct?” The bellman asks, satisfied with a nod of my head, “and if you have any questions at all just call using the telephone number 808-976-7835. Aloha and enjoy your stay at the Paradise Beach Hotel, Miss Hill!”

“I will and thank you very much for your services,” I reply while giving the bellman a generous tip.

I use my electronic plastic hotel key to open room number seventy six. The black screen on the door flashes green, and I step into my new lodgings for the next few weeks with my magenta suitcase and Miss T’s travel cage.

Walking forward only a few steps I’ve been instantly transported to paradise. It’s exactly what I pictured my summer vacation to be and so much more.

I take a quick survey of my room: a huge glass window sits opposite of my queen bed and the room lets in a lot of warm sunlight. In the spacious room a small kitchen lies in one corner, a very modern flat screen TV hangs in the living room, and with a quick peek in one of the bathrooms I notice a luxurious bathtub where I plan to spend many a bubble bath.

I look toward the large window opposite my bed which allows the majority of the sunlight to enter the room. The astounding view takes my breath away, even Miss T stops chewing on her plastic key rings to take in the beauty, or it could just be because rabbits do strange things at strange times.

Looking below I see people chilling at the pool beneath us. For a public hotel pool, the water is clear, and I notice dozens of relined chairs bordering the edge of the pool. I make a mental note to spend a quantity of my days sun-tanning on one of the pool chairs located right next to the mini refreshment tiki hut. But the pool isn’t even the best part.

Above and beyond the pool and its inhabitants, lies the mysterious and cryptic ocean. A deep shade of aquamarine blue embodies most of the water but farther in the distance, the aquamarine transforms into a deeper shade of blue. Fluffs of clouds, reminding me of cotton candy, drift serenely against the equally perfect sky.

A window adjacent to the one with the spectacular view is slightly opened to allow fresh air to ventilate the room. Through that window, I hear the distant sounds of mumbling waves crash onto the shore and children laughing joyfully. The sounds of paradise.

To top it all off, I’m able to taste and smell the salty breeze emitting from the ocean. I give a contented sigh at my success in diagnosing and discovering medicine to cure my adventurous thoughts.

Taking one last look at the picture perfect canvass of the sea, my eyes transfer to yet another delightful scene, and I find further pleasure in watching the lush palm trees sway in the light breeze.

Their hypnotizing trance pulls me into a lazy daydream. I’m so relaxed and maybe even a bit too happy, if that’s even possible, and I make intentions to check out the beach soon and maybe even sign up for a scuba diving lesson or two. A door creaks open, but I think, who cares? I’m in paradise and nothing matters now but the sun, the waves, the sand, the wind, and the room service.

I think I continue listing the other options that Hawaii has to offer, but time is lost to me so I’m not a very reliable source for the time at the moment. I feel extra warmth pulsing against the nape of my neck, but I’m sure the sun has just hit its peak in the sky, and I’m just getting more used to the warmth of paradise than back home.

The sunny air is quite still but the occasional screech of a seagull breaks off the awkward quietness. I feel a warm fuzzy sensation inside of me, and I’m trying to make it all out.

“Quite the view? Is it not?”

I’m shaken out of my reverie. My heart speeds. Someone is standing behind me; I can sense it. What I previously thought to be the sun, must be a person’s warm breath against my neck. I know this statement to be true without even turning my head.

I can’t breathe. I dare not flinch or turn around, too fearful to know who is in my room and what they are to do with me.

To be continued...