December to Remember 3

At this point, I should paint a vivid picture of my so-called promotion. Almost every junior staff envied my new position, but that's because they were ignorant of what it entailed. If they knew the reality, they wouldn’t have. It was nothing more than a glorified title—extra responsibility with no additional benefits. Alongside my usual junior staff duties, my workload doubled. Also, in the absence of the manager and his assistant, I was left in charge of our exclusive VVIP bar—the crown jewel of the establishment. 

Every junior staff dreamed of being transferred there, but not out of love for the job. No! Their desires were fueled by the almost constant fat tips, the possibility of getting poached by high-end hotel recruiters, and, of course, an all-access pass to the latest scandals of the elite. For the young women among us, it was also an opportunity—an excuse to glam up their faces, tighten their uniforms, and flaunt their assets, just in case a wealthy, single man was in the mood to "mingle with the lowly but beautiful."

I found all that drama laughable. A fantasy fueled by watching too much Nollywood. I had no interest in impressing a bunch of entitled trust fund babies who strutted around like they were demi god’s and gifts to the world. Anyway, back to my December ordeal.

In 2021, a new hospitality company opened down the road, and, as expected, it cut into our business. Our clientele shrank, but the VVIP bar remained a favorite for the regulars. Five days to Christmas, our hotel, looking to cut costs, encouraged the staff to take their annual leave. I saw it as the perfect chance to visit the orphanage—my only real family—and, of course, escape the exhausting constant spectacle of privileged, arrogant customers throwing money around like confetti.

I quickly applied for my leave. But just as I was finalizing my travel plans, I was summoned by the assistant manager. 

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