I was up at the Agam Centre, hacking away at the carrots. Sweat beads were forming on my brows, the lights illuminating the space ship were not helping.
The mincer had broken and there was no spare left. I had been given a warning yesterday for not doing enough. 700 carrots 40 minutes left. Soup was once again the dish of the day.
The clock was ticking. I could hear the Chef scream. My heartbeat was rising. I was feeling short of breath goddammit. I was about to have a panic attack. I did not have time for it. I was getting slower. My fingers were trembling. How was I gonna get this done? There was no way. The children would starve and it would be my fault yet again. I could feel myself go dizzy, I could hear footsteps approach. I tried to breathe. To focus on the carrots. The pieces were haphazard — I was setting ground for rebuke I could not afford. The soup was all we had left. It was all that kept us energized and hopeful. I had to make sure we all got it, to find my focus before they got here.
The knife fell to the floor. Barely missing the chef’s toe. I picked up the knife and found myself face to face with a contorted face. I knew they would rage soon. “I am sorry! I am sorry!” I shrieked. “I am finishing up. You will have all your carrots”. They glared at me for another 30 seconds and walked away. The fallen knife snapped me back. 600 carrots 30 minutes
Time was flying. 100 carrots remained. 10 children’s dinner. I had 5 minutes left. I was frantic about finishing. UGH. I would get deboarded if this did not get done. I would get deboarded. I would. Oh Mornel. I was panicking. Again.
