I Fell In Love With A Blind Man

Waking up has always been a challenge for me. It’s the reason I was always late for school and why I got expelled twice in high school. Eventually everyone got used to my very abnormal late disorder. They call it African time. If you tell me to meet you at eleven, I’ll arrive an hour later. I’m not punctual at all.

I was supposed to be at work an hour ago, but I was still speeding through traffic, praying it would magically move. After a long and exhausting fifteen minutes, I finally got there. I put my apron on in a hurry and rushed to the workers’ room so the manager wouldn’t see me.

“Shanty! Shanty!”

Shit. He saw me, and he looked furious.

“I’m so sorry,” I said quickly. “My cat died this morning and I had to go bury it. I lost track of time.”

The manager frowned. “Didn’t your cat die last week?”

Argh. I’d used that excuse before.

“I had two cats. They’re both dead now,” I muttered.

He sighed. “Go to the head office. The boss is waiting for you.”

My heart dropped. I’d been working here for a month and had never even seen the boss. I knew what was coming. I was going to get fired again. At this point, I’d been fired so many times it didn’t even hurt anymore.

I bumped my head on the door as I walked in and cursed under my breath.

“You’re such a mess for a beautiful lady like you,” the boss said from behind his desk.

I smiled awkwardly while rubbing my forehead.

“I’m sorry this has to happen,” he continued, “but you’re fired, Shanty. You’re always late for work, you’re clumsy, and you break almost every piece of equipment we own. Don’t get me wrong, you’re a good cook. The best we’ve ever had. But you’re more of a curse than a blessing. This is the salary you were supposed to receive this month. Please leave with immediate effect.”

I took the money quietly and walked out without saying goodbye to anyone. Well, goodbye to my chef job. I failed to be a librarian, I failed to be a waitress, I failed to be a chef. What’s next? There has to be something because I need a job. I’m twenty-five years old. I need a proper job.

The worst part is, I don’t even want to work, but my parents cut me off. They said it’s time I learned to take care of myself. I don’t even blame them. I’ve been spoiled since birth. I couldn’t even do my own laundry until a few months ago. I only learned how to cook when they tossed me into an apartment in Glenwood, took my BMW, and gave me a small Kia.

It’s a three-bedroom apartment that I pay for myself until I got a roommate, my cousin. I also pay for the fuel in my car. Mind you, I still need to buy groceries and personal stuff. How am I supposed to do that without a job? And if I call my parents, my father will say, “Shanty, find yourself and find your purpose in life.”

What is my purpose? I’m clumsy, disorganized, lazy, and a boring young woman. I’m thick and short, dark-skinned with long hair I call my natural weave. I’m twenty-five years old, born on the first of January, the only child, and my parents have basically left me to struggle in Glenwood while they enjoy life in Cape Town.

My name is Shantel Leaster, and this is my story.

Yesterday I spent the entire day being shouted at by Loveness, my cousin, for losing my job again. It’s not my fault I can’t keep a job for more than two weeks while she’s had the same job for two years and is still studying. I don’t have a degree. When I finished high school, I was done with school forever. I failed matric, never upgraded, never tried. Not all of us are academically gifted. I failed grade eleven and had to repeat it. Worst year of my life. I hate school with everything in me.

This morning I did my routine and took my CV with me. I knew I wouldn’t get a job. I was only doing it so Loveness wouldn’t scream at me again. Honestly, even I wouldn’t hire me. My former employers definitely have nothing good to say.

The first restaurant I walked into was hiring, but the manager looked me up and down and said, “Are you seriously looking for a job? People who are serious don’t come at this time dressed like that.”

Like, what was wrong with looking for a job at 1 pm while wearing Air Force sneakers, a Gucci T-shirt and a Prada bag? Those are my everyday clothes. He made it seem like I’m a snob. And honestly, I’d never wake up at 6 am to look for a job. I’d rather not work.

Most places judged me by my CV or didn’t even let me speak.

“This is the last one,” I muttered. “I’m done after this.”

I was starving and tired. I parked my car, left my expensive bag behind this time, and walked into the last restaurant. It was beautiful, classy, high-standard.

A waiter approached me. “May I help you, ma’am?”

“Hi,” I said. “I’m looking for your manager or boss. Someone who does the hiring.”

“Let me take you to the office. Follow me.”

I thanked him and followed him. When we got there, two men in black suits were inside. Both wore black shades. One sat behind the desk while the other stood beside him. Boss and bodyguard, maybe.

“Good afternoon, gentlemen,” I said politely.

Silence.

I cleared my throat. Still nothing.

I was about to turn around and leave when the man sitting down finally spoke.

“Sit down.”

“You heard the boss,” the other added. “Sit down.”

I sat quietly and looked at both of them.

“What do you want, young lady?” the boss asked.

“I’m looking for a job,” I replied, handing him my CV.

The bodyguard took it and flipped through it. “It doesn’t look good at all, boss.”

The boss nodded. “What position are you applying for?”

“I want to be a chef. I was a chef at my last job.”

“And how long did that last?” he asked.

“A month.”

“Why?”

I cleared my throat. “Let’s just say… I’m a little too clumsy. But I’m good at what I do.”