Chapter 140.
<strong>Chapter 140. Checking Out After a Free Breakfast. (3/3)</strong>
<span style="font-weight:400">“I’m just collecting souvenirs for your mother. I’m sure she will like them.” This wonderful pillow, how could anyone hate such a wonderful thing? I don’t think I could easily give it up to her though. We might have to share it. As for the towel, it was just something extra on the side.
<span style="font-weight:400">“No way. I can’t see that happening at all. She’s definitely going to chew you out.” Alicia, her own daughter, was the one who said so.
<span style="font-weight:400">“Just wait and see. I’m definitely not wrong.”
<span style="font-weight:400">Having said that, it was time for us to get dressed and check out. “We should check out now. Get dressed in some casual clothes for now. You can change into your school uniform after you leave the premises. It would definitely raise some eyebrows if you came out dressed in your school uniforms or together with me. I’ll leave now on my own, check out, and you two can go to school without me. Just change into your school uniforms inside a public restroom or something.”
<span style="font-weight:400">“You’re not going to school with us?” Alicia asked.
<span style="font-weight:400">“No.”
<span style="font-weight:400">“Are you nning to skip again?”
<span style="font-weight:400">“Naturally.”
<span style="font-weight:400">“That’s not good, you know. What if you umte too many absences and are held back a year because of it?”
<span style="font-weight:400">“I’ve already made arrangements with the school so that doesn’t happen. As long as I at least show up and pass all my tests, midterms, and finals, andplete whatever assignments or projects the teachers give us, I’ll be allowed to graduate.”
<span style="font-weight:400">Not that I cared, but if I found myself in a situation where I needed another job, having that stupid piece of paper saying I graduated high school mighte in handy should they request proof I really did graduate. Just saying you graduated was usually enough for jobs that only listedpletion of high school as a requirement for the position. As far as I was aware, most of those low-end jobs in this country didn’t care very much as long as you could do the work.
<span style="font-weight:400">Mid to high-end jobs were apletely different story though. They required all sorts of fancy certifications and specializations. It was just mind-numbing how even the most simplistic jobs required such things.
<span style="font-weight:400">The days of ‘will train’ were pretty much gone for those types of jobs. You could either hit the ground running or you were tough out of luck. Every single job had some sort of specialized software for them, if you weren’t experienced with it already, then too bad.
<span style="font-weight:400">Somepanies basically expected a newbie who knew next to nothing about thepany to know exactly whatplicated software and programs they used in advance and get good at it beforehand. They might not even post such information in the job listing either, which made it even more painful.
<span style="font-weight:400">If you called and asked, the person you got through to likely didn’t even know the answer to your questions either. They were just as clueless and useless, their only responsibility was to answer the phone after all.
<span style="font-weight:400">If they connected you to HR, from what I’d personally experienced, they didn’t know jack shit and were out of the loop as well. Companies had reached the point where the software and programs were personally tailored to meet their demands by software engineers who worked for them or were outsourced.
<span style="font-weight:400">It was hell, truly hell out there. And it would only get worse in the future as everything grew even moreplicated and convoluted. There were days in the future where I wondered how civilization hadn’t copsed from how overlyplicated andplex everything had be.
<span style="font-weight:400">It was like people forgot what the word simplicity meant.
<span style="font-weight:400">It wasplex just for the sake of beingplex. Just to make it harder for the average unspecialized all-rounder to get their foot through the door. Complex things were simplified and built upon to beplex again. The process repeated itself severalyers deep until it reached a point where things were simplified but you had no idea regarding the inner workings of that mysterious ck box.
<span style="font-weight:400">You only knew if you put something into it, you’d get a certain expected result out. That was the process of electrical engineering. In a sense, the development of circuits was the perfect embodiment of the state of the jobs in the country.
<span style="font-weight:400">A professor once taught me that every known phenomenon in the world could be represented in the form of circuitry. That professor’s words have always stuck in the back of my mind ever since that day. I will never forget them.
<span style="font-weight:400">With my bulging bag on my back, I left the duo behind in the room and approached the front desk receptionist.
<span style="font-weight:400">“Excuse me, I’m here to check out from room 1210.”
<span style="font-weight:400">“Alright, one moment, please. Let me just pull up your reservation really quick and get you checked out.”
<span style="font-weight:400">“It should be under Irene Sorayuki.”
<span style="font-weight:400">“Alright.”
<span style="font-weight:400">The receptionist picked up the phone and spoke to someone.
<span style="font-weight:400">“Yes, that’s right, room 1210 is checking out.” They hung up after saying that.
<span style="font-weight:400">Right then, Rosa and Alicia walked past me with their jackets over their casual clothes and exited the hotel without any problems.
<span style="font-weight:400">It felt like the receptionist was stalking me out. They’d taken notice of the bulging bag on my back. The person they’d spoken to on the phone was definitely a cleaningdy.
<span style="font-weight:400">After the receptionist took a brief ten-second call and hung up, she asked, “Would you like a copy of your receipt?” It seemed there were no problems with the room. So they had checked it out. It was a good thing I took those extra precautions.
<span style="font-weight:400">“Yes, please.”
<span style="font-weight:400">She printed out the receipt and handed it over. I scanned through the bill and found no problems with it. The total wasn’t incorrect. Irene had saved us money on the room and gotten the single bed at $120 for the night. However, after taxes and the cost for the room servicest night, it came up to $180 altogether.
<span style="font-weight:400">Well, it was within an eptable level of what I could tolerate.
<span style="font-weight:400">I bid the receptionist a good day and departed. I used the ATM on my way out to withdraw the money to pay Irene back in cash. I took an envelope from the machine and put the cash inside then headed over to a bus stop nearby. It was across the street from where Rosa and Alicia waited for theirs.
<span style="font-weight:400">Alicia waved at me in a friendly fashion.
<span style="font-weight:400">I normally ignored such greetings but when it came to her it felt hard to do so. I awkwardly returned her greeting by raising my hand to stomach level and waved back.
<span style="font-weight:400">She covered her mouth to try and hide herugh. It looked that awkward, huh? I’d never get used to such mundane daily interactions with others. It just wasn’t my thing and didn’t mesh well with my gloomy personality.
<span style="font-weight:400">I did my best, okay? I really tried. I tried really hard, but it still looked weird! Actions that looked so natural for others just looked alien when I replicated them. Unless I became the embodiment of a character I envisioned in my mind, it would always turn out that way.
<span style="font-weight:400">I could only do things naturally when I was putting on one of my acts. Honestly, after I started writing for long enough as an author, deep down, I knew I probably had the ability tond a few jobs as long as I became the embodiment of one of the characters I’d formted in my head. But… I just couldn’t do it.
<span style="font-weight:400">I’d have to keep up that sort of act from then on, it would be too mentally taxing and draining. That was why I never did such a thing.
<span style="font-weight:400">You can do it if you try. That was the go-to line for those braindead happy-go-lucky people whose jobs were their identity. But what if trying in such a manner only made you hate yourself. You’d be exactly like the people you hate. People who were willing to work themselves into their graves for the employers who didn’t truly give a shit about them.
<span style="font-weight:400">People who only existed for their jobs and nothing else. What was the point of living such a pathetic lifestyle? If you one day found yourself in a position where you could no longer work or where you were unreasonably fired without a reason, what would you do then?
<span style="font-weight:400">Since I couldn’t understand such a mindset, on a subconscious level, I instinctively rejected their way of life. It was the block in my mind that would not allow me to put on a wless act those people would not see through. They… disgusted me.
<span style="font-weight:400">Irene wasn’t that sort of person. For her, work was simply a means to take care of her children. She had something precious to her. She wouldn’t be lost if she one day lost her job. She’d immediately move on and find a new one if she had to.
<span style="font-weight:400">People like her, I respected.
<span style="font-weight:400">But… I didn’t have anything like that. The only thing I had was writing. To me, a job was simply something I could use to survive on my own in this world and enjoy my time writing. It wasn’t something I considered a big part of my life. I wouldn’t kill myself for those people and bend over backward to please their every little demand. I wouldn’t destroy my health with overtime hours to meet a deadline the way they implicitly expected you to do.
<span style="font-weight:400">As soon as my shift was over, I’d be out the door. I was there to work, not to hand my entire life over on a silver tter to satiate someone else’s greed and lust for money.
<span style="font-weight:400">These were all problems with me that made me a defective failed product of society’s clockwork system. At some point in the manufacturing process, I broke. I was a broken existence, irreparably so, from society’s perspective at least.
<span style="font-weight:400">But I didn’t care, what’s wrong with being broken? What’s wrong with not fitting into the established norm society has constructed for us? As long as you are fine with it yourself, who cares what they think of you?
<span style="font-weight:400">Thus, I live my life however I please. I won’t blindly chase after whatever their idiotic notion of sess or happiness is. I will simply struggle for myself, my own survival. Even if it’s all the way at the very bottom.
<span style="font-weight:400">I <i><span style="font-weight:400">don’t</i><span style="font-weight:400"> enjoy living in <i><span style="font-weight:400">this world </i><span style="font-weight:400">the way <span style="font-weight:400">they have created it, but I <i><span style="font-weight:400">can</i><span style="font-weight:400"> enjoy the <i><span style="font-weight:400">world</i> <i><span style="font-weight:400">I see</i><span style="font-weight:400">, the way <i><span style="font-weight:400">I perceive</i> <i><span style="font-weight:400">it</i><span style="font-weight:400">.
<span style="font-weight:400">Life is what <b><i>you</i></b><span style="font-weight:400"> make of it.
<span style="font-weight:400">Those words are all too true.
<span style="font-weight:400">It is <b><i>not</i></b><span style="font-weight:400"> what <b><i>others</i></b><span style="font-weight:400"> want you to make of it.
<span style="font-weight:400">I had such irresponsible thoughts on the bus ride home.
<span style="font-weight:400">When I got back home, I slid the envelope with money under Irene’s door and put away the food I’d brought back from the hotel in the fridge.
<span style="font-weight:400">I took out all the free stuff I’d taken from the hotel and dumped it out on the bed. I hugged the pillow and slept until it was time for my shift at work. The girl’s interviews would be conducted during my shift in the managerial office at the back of the store.
<span style="font-weight:400">Apparently, the one and only Owner was conducting 15 minutes in-person interviews at the main store throughout the day until 4:30 PM. Rosa and Alicia were thest two she’d interview for the day.
<span style="font-weight:400">She typically avoided my time slot like the gue. She could have done it at the second store, but for some reason, she purposely selected the main store. It made me a bit nervous.
<span style="font-weight:400">Why did she even personally handle the hiring process? Just let one of the managers do it for you during the day. Was it because you wanted to make sure they were all pretty in person with your own eyes? Did you think your managers would pick people at random even if they didn’t meet your standard of attractiveness?
<span style="font-weight:400">What’s with you, Owner! Why are you so superficial! I get it’s a business decision, but still!
<span style="font-weight:400">Where is the justice for gloomy people like me who aren’t as attractive in this world?