Letters On Our Skin || BangChan

7

When I wake up, Chan, Felix, and I are the only people left in the living room. It's light out, a grey, bright sky behind the ever growing skyscraper family of Seoul.
I check my phone, but it's dead. The battery probably went out hours ago. I grab after Chan's phone on the table and check it instead.
It's 8.30 in the morning.
Fuck. I am already an hour late for work.
"No, no, no!" I scramble for my stuff.
This can't be happening.
Chan stirs on the couch but I don't have the time to check on him or say goodbye. I need to leave.

This was a bad idea. I never should have come here on a Wednesday night. What was I thinking? How could I have been this careless?
I catch the next subway to my place, change into different clothes, and rush out the door again.
I charge my phone in the car, and on the way to work it actually receives a few messages. All from Chan.

Are you okay? You left without saying goodbye, what's wrong?

Please let us know if you're alright. We're worried.

I hope you're okay!

I don't answer.
I am mad.
At myself for allowing myself this slip when I know better. I am mad at Chan for inviting me in the first place. I am mad at the world itself for making me work this early, for making me have to have this shitty job with this shitty boss.
But above all, I am mad at myself for falling asleep. I should have left right after the first movie. I shouldn't have agreed to meet them at all.
They're celebrities, for God's sake. What would they possibly want with me?

At work, I rush in through the back.
"You're late," Hyeon says as soon as I enter.
I drop my bag at my locker and enter his office.
Hyeon has been my boss for half a year now. He actually took over this job after my previous boss had to retire due to a medical condition.
I hate Hyeon. He's an ass.
"I know," I say, "I am so sorry. I overslept and my alarm didn't go off because my phone was off, and I-..."
"I don't care why you're late," Hyeon looks at me from his dark hawk eyes, "I only care that it doesn't happen again. This is strike number one. Again, and you're fired."

I swallow. Oh god.
"Consider me unhappy."
It takes all my will-power not to roll my eyes to the back of my head.
That's his thing. Consider me unhappy. Consider me surprised. Consider me disappointed. He's been saying this since the day he got here.
Well, consider me ready to leave this fucking place.
Of course, I don't say anything. Just apologize again and turn to change into my work uniform.

When I told the boys I waited tables I didn't lie.
But that's not what I hate about this place.
What I hate is that I wait tables in the only casino that's not only open 24 hours a day, but open for anyone, no matter how drunk or wasted. What I hate about this place is that all the waitresses wear uniforms that feel very similar to a cheerleader's uniform, only a lot shorter. What I hate about this place is that we are looked at like a piece of meat, like a priced pig at the market.

I change into my uniform. Every waitress wears a sort of costume, individual to the role she plays.
There's a girl wearing a uniform that makes her look like an anime character, wig and everything. Another girl wears the black and white uniform of a maid you could see in a cheap porn video.

I wear a uniform that looks like a policeman's uniform. Except, of course, my skirt ends just beneath my ass and the straps of my top are so thin, they're barely there. I even have a pair of black, plushy handcuffs and a hat with a little cap. I slip into the black leather boots, tie them up to my knee, and grab one of the waiter belts.
On the way to the front, I pass a mirror and for just a second, I look at myself.

My father would be so ashamed of me.
I am ashamed of me.
How sinister ironic that I am playing the ridiculed role of my father's actual job.

It's Thursday, which means I'll be giving another free class in the park today.
Chan and Felix have been texting me all morning. I didn't answer them. During my break, another set of phone numbers texted me as well, letting me know that they enjoyed spending time with me and hope I got home safe.
I almost laugh.
The privilege makes me sick.
What must it be like in a world where you have the morning off? In a world where you can make your own schedule, set your own times, your own plan. What is it like to work for yourself? To live your dream?

I try not to be bitter, but it's hard. The harsh reality is that I am at the bottom of the social food chain. I never should have pretended like they could actually be friends with me. They're kpop idols, successful and loved by hundreds of thousands. We are just too different to be actual friends.
They're living in a skyscraper, spending their day making music, dancing choreographies they make up to their own songs, while my ass gets slapped four times an hour and I can't do anything about it because I'd lose my job if I would.
They're lovely people but it would never work.

The free class at the park goes smoothly. It's nothing special this week, and I think the dancers notice that I am not my most amazing self right now, but they're still having fun and that's all that matters.
I'm just about to pack my stuff up again and load it into my car, when someone approaches me from behind.
"Hey," he says.
Chan.