text: Fieri walked into her room after a hard day at work. She was sick of people mistreating her. As a waitress working for a classy and expensive restaurant, it was to be expected. But she’d grown tired of it rather quickly. It was always some elderly man or teenage boy harassing her or drooling over her. She knew she was pretty, with her long dark chocolate hair curled and pinned up elegantly, and equally stunning dark eyes. She wore glasses and thought they made her seem mature, but a lot of the female customers that came into the restaurant deemed them a pointless distraction atop her curvy tattooed body. As if they thought it was an attempt to draw the customers’ attention away from her tattoos with them. An older religious woman had come in once and refused to be seated by Fieri, claiming she was the face of sin simply because she had them. After starting her job, she tried to cover her tattoos to save the face of the restaurant she worked for. She’d even swapped to contacts. But she eventually grew tired of that, too. She was exhausted. Mentally and physically. Fieri often worked fifty hour weeks and never had much to show for it. She’d grown disgusted by the treatment she received at work and had even begun therapy to relieve some of the stress and anger she’d built up and buried. Her therapist had instructed her to start a journal on her phone, and after every terrible occurrence she had at work, or even at the end of every day, she was to document it and express what she felt should’ve happened, or what she wished would happen instead. The therapist had said it would be a good outlet for her, and could add some positivity in her life amidst the poor treatment. She’d even suggested a specific app. So Fieri had downloaded the journal app on her phone, but she’d never touched it. She thought it was silly, as if she were a little girl keeping a diary. She often thought to give it a try, but never actually did. Today was especially bad, though. And she decided to at least give it a chance. She opened the app and labeled a folder, “Change”. She started a fresh note in the folder and began typing: Day 1 A woman in her mid forties poured her drink on me today because it had too much ice. She said she asked for light ice, but she didn’t and we both know she didn’t. One thing I wished could change is that people be a little more reasonable. Fieri saved the note and closed the app. She then plugged her phone up on her nightstand to charge, took a shower, and went to bed for work the next morning. This next work day hadn’t gone as particularly bad for Fieri, but not better, either. She’d had two notable experiences today. One had been a family of three. And when they’d arrived, she offered the parents a booster seat for their two-year-old, but they’d declined. They had said he was advanced enough to eat without one. But their time spent at the restaurant had proved them to be wrong. The little boy spent the entirety of their meal screaming and throwing food at her every time she approached their table. The other experience had been strange. Fieri led an older woman to a table. She was perhaps in her early fifties. She’d been to the restaurant a few times, always in a foul mood. Fieri asked the woman what she’d like to drink and the woman told her. She retrieved the drink, but upon reaching the table, she bumped it slightly, spilling some of the drink onto the table, and splashing a few drops onto the woman’s shirt. Fieri panicked and immediately started apologizing in remorse for the accident. She watched the customer’s face contort into anger, then stop and completely change into something more calm. “It’s alright, dear.” The woman had told her. “It’ll wash out.” Fieri had frozen, dumbfounded. She’d never expected such a response out of the woman. The woman had reacted reasonably to the accident, rather than demanding to see her manager or pelting her with threats. Now home, she opened the journal app on her phone and clicked the “Change” folder. Starting an additional note, she began to type: Day 2 A family of three came in. The parents had a two-year-old son and refused a booster seat. The boy spent the whole time screaming and once full; he started throwing his food at me when I tried to refill their drinks or ask if they needed anything. One thing I wished could change is bringing untrained children into higher-end restaurants such as ours. Or hire a babysitter if you want to spend the evening out, I suppose. The next day, Fieri got home feeling just as tired as usual. She plopped down tiredly on her bed, kicking her heels off lazily. She recalled a few things from her day. One worthy of documenting in her app. And the other, just strange. An elderly man had come in, and she’d taken him to one of the few remaining booths at the back of the restaurant. He’d begun talking about his deceased wife and how lonely he was from the moment she hosted him. He took a seat, and she placed a menu down and asked for his drink order. He told her he wanted water, so she nodded and left to fill his drink. Upon returning, she placed his drink on the table. Before she could ask him what he would like to eat, he reached out and clasped her hand around his, and kissed it. The elderly man told Fieri she was too stunning to be working as a waitress, making minimum wage and that he could subsidise her easily. Fieri retracted her hand carefully and declined respectfully. This had enraged the old man, and he blurted obscenities at her and left the restaurant in a fit. The strange occurrence had been a family of four; two parents, a toddler and a newborn. Fieri had seen them come in and had frowned, having dealt with this the day before. But she put on a smile and went to greet them. The woman was distressed and was talking to the father. ”Chad, I know you made reservations. But I really don’t think we need to be bringing the kids in here just because the babysitter canceled.” She told him. ”But you’ve been waiting all week. It’ll be alright.” The father responded. ”I just don’t want to ruin other people’s dinners, honey. It’ll be hard enough to keep them quiet. They haven’t even napped.” ”Oh, come on Sarah. It’s our anniversary.” Chad said. Fieri greeted them and offered them a booster. She watched Sarah look at Chad, pleading for an answer. But Chad’s face had completely changed. He looked Fieri in the eyes and said, “Actually, no. It looks busy here and our babysitter canceled. We’ll just reschedule. I’m sorry for wasting your time.” Sarah looked just as shocked as Fieri did, but she smiled and mouthed the word ‘sorry’ to Fieri. Then the family had rescheduled left. Sighing to herself, Fieri opened her journal app to the “Change” folder and started typing the day into it: Day 3 Today was very weird. An old man I seated flirted with me and asked if he could financially support me. I declined, of course. But he marched out of the restaurant angrily. One thing I’d change is respect. People are so openly disrespectful to not only hosts but just in general. Fieri plugged her phone up to charge and went to shower, while puzzling about the things she put into the app and the incidents that followed. It was as if things were actually changing. The following day, Fieri had actually had a good day, aside from the people who’d tipped only a few dollars. She decided she’d put that into the app since she didn’t have anything really terrible come out of the day. Day 4 Today wasn’t actually too bad. Just small tips. I guess one thing I’d change is that people should understand that I rely on tips as much as my hourly rate. It’s just rude to tip poorly when the waitress is consistently catering to multiple customers, and somehow doing it well. The next day, Fieri was actually excited to document her day in the app. She couldn’t explain what was happening, but she knew it had something to do with her notes app. It was like the things she typed were coming true. Today, a kind younger gentleman had made her day when he tipped her fifty dollars for doing such a splendid job. She insisted he didn’t, but the man had refused to take it back and claimed she deserved it for her hard work. He told her his girlfriend was a waitress and that he understood the struggle. A different couple had come in, however, and the girl did nothing but complain about her entire meal. About the steak not being to her liking and how the sides weren’t cooked how’d she’d specifically ask. Then she mumbled something about an allergy. Fieri had felt bad for her boyfriend. He’d sat there quietly, red with pure embarrassment. Then he’d quietly paid for the meal and tipped accordingly. She opened her journal app to the “Change” folder. Day 5 Today was splendid and slightly miserable at the same time. A young man tipped me 50 bucks! On the other hand, a young couple came in and the girl whined over everything imaginable. Her boyfriend was so embarrassed. One thing I would change is the public decency some people have. There’s no reason to go out in public with those types of manners, let alone a classy restaurant. Fieri laid her phone down and grabbed some clothes, then routinely went to shower before heading to bed. The following morning, Fieri sat on her bed after getting dressed for work. The weekend had flown by too quickly for her. All she’d managed to do was clean and do her laundry, after being called in to work a few hours both days. She barely ever made time for herself with how much she worked. She hadn’t even had time to document anything in her journal. Fieri thought about her journal app and smiled, an idea forming. If the things she’d typed had come true, surely this would work too. She opened it up to her “Change” folder. Day 6 I’ve been called in on my days off now for several weeks in a row, and it’s exhausting me. One thing I’d change is my manager giving me days off or maybe some PTO. Fieri smiled, sure of herself. She stood and grabbed her purse and keys, ready to get to work. She was excited about the outcome her notes would bring her this time. Walking through the restaurant, Fieri smiled slightly. She was on her way to inform the cook she needed a steak to replace the one he’d prepared for an order. A woman had come in a short while ago and had ordered a steak. Upon receiving it, she had stopped Fieri to explain to her she preferred her steak to be cooked a little longer. But she’d done so in a mannerly fashion. It had pleased Fieri, as she thought back to the note she’d written previously about manners and decency. However, she’d crossed paths with her boss a few times, without him so much as glancing her way, as if she didn’t exist. She waited until he was about to leave and caught him on his way out. ”Um, excuse me, sir? Tony?“ she asked. He turned around while digging in the pockets of his long name brand trench coat. “Yes, can I help you? I’m kind of in a hurry.” Fieri talked quickly to hold his attention. “So sir, I’ve been working a lot of overtime here recently and-“ Tony didn’t even look her in the eyes as moved to dig in the front pockets of his dress pants. “Yeah, yeah. You and everyone else, Fiery. Oh, have you seen my keys? They’re not in my pockets.“ Fieri frowned and held her tongue. Instead, she continued. “Anyway, I was thinking it would be nice to have some time off. Since I’ve not had as much time to do the things I need to do in my little spare time.” Tony sighed in frustration. “You know you’re not the only one to come in on their days off. Everyone else does too. I don’t know why you even bothered asking me such a question. I’ve got to find my keys.” He said as he brushed past Fieri, pausing for one last comment. “Oh, and don’t ask again. We need the extra help.” Fieri bit back tears as she rushed to the employee’s restroom to take a minute to recompose herself. The note she’d written hadn’t worked the way she’d thought it would. Later that night, Fieri laid in bed, still in her work attire. She had come home and flopped down on the bed, sad. She’d held her tears back all day and now she was tired of holding them back. Her dark mascara ran down the side of her flushed cheeks. “He called me Fiery. And only two of us actually come in when called cause we’re all they have. Maybe if they hired more people...” Her voice trailed off as she sat up and wiped her face. Fieri knew it was no use. That talking about it wouldn’t make her feel any better. She laid her phone down on the nightstand without plugging it up to charge and went to take a long, hot shower. Fieri didn’t touch her phone at all that night, didn’t even bother with the notes app. She’d simply gone to bed right after her shower. The next morning, Fieri moved slowly around the restaurant, having no motivation. It was only after she’d seated her therapist and asked for her drink order that she realized who it was. Her therapist didn’t respond as she looked Fieri in the eyes. “Fieri? Is everything alright?” Fieri snapped from her daze, ashamed. “Oh, Dr. Williams! Um, yes. Everything is fine. What would you like to drink? I think I missed your response.“ The therapist looked deep into her eyes and then clicked her tongue. “You abused the power, didn’t you?” ”I’m sorry,?” Fieri asked, confused. ”Oh, nothing. Nevermind that. How are things? With work, I mean. Has journaling helped?” Fieri frowned. “Things were okay, I guess, until they weren’t. I’ve stopped using my journal app. The one you suggested was great. I just, I don’t know.” “I see. I made that app, you know. Though, I’m glad to see you at least gave it a try. Makes me proud.” “I’m sorry, Dr. Williams. Did you say you made the app? The one you suggested to me?” Fieri said, appalled. ”That’s right. Oh, and I said a coffee would be wonderful.” She answered with a wink. Fieri couldn’t speak. Her heart was lodged in her throat and she could feel her pulse all over her body. She nodded at her therapist and fled to get her a coffee. From a distance, she kept watch on the therapist, refilling her coffee without another spoken word between them. Fieri had somehow convinced herself that she’d heard wrong or possibly misunderstood. She told herself there was no way her therapist would lie to her about such a thing. But how had she done it? The app was almost like magic, bringing her wishes to life. While cleaning a table on the other side of the restaurant from her therapist, Fieri hadn’t noticed when Dr. Williams got up, paid, or even left. She went to clean the table and upon lifting the napkin under the therapist’s coffee cup, Fieri found a folded twenty-dollar bill and a scribble on the back of one of Dr. Williams’ business cards. The note read: Keep journaling. Things will only get better! Fieri only smiled and tucked the note and the twenty-dollar bill away into her pocket.