"Not really, we were an hour ago, but it’s slowed down."

"Good," he says, grunting as he tries to tie his apron.

I roll my eyes, helping the poor man, he’s a single father, too. He told me when I was being interviewed that his wife had passed during child birth with his daughter, so he’s been trying to provide for her. He moved from the States about six years ago, establishing this little place. He said that it’s mainly Koreans that come here to eat, except during the summer when it’s tourism season.

I look up, seeing the group of girls watching us intently. I see them put their heads together, talking quietly,I know they’re talking about me. I see one smile at me shyly, I smile back, nodding. She does it back, she looks younger than the rest, so I’m guessing she’s the Maknae. I’ve learned some of the words in Korean, as well as the formalities, but my Korean .

"Order up!" our cook, Steve, says.

I laugh, taking the girls their food. I set all the plates down, filling up their glasses as they attack the food. I smile, I take it these girls don’t get to eat things like this much. I nod and bow, leaving them alone. I sigh, thinking of my body again. I shake my head, going back to work, not wanting to think to much about myself, but where I’m at and what I have to do.

"Have you had a break yet?" Ben asks.

"Not yet," I tell him, wiping some tables down by the windows, "why?"

"When was the last time you were off?" he asks now, thinking.

I laugh.

"I told you, I don’t have a personal life. This is my life: work, work, work."

He chuckles, shaking his head.

"But you need to get out there, enjoy your life before it slips away, Young Lady."

Again I laugh. I like Ben, he’s like a father to me. He’s never angry with me, especially since I learn quick. I had learned everything he shown me when I first started in two months.

"Why don’t you take the rest of the day off, then," he says.

I shake my head, "no, I’m scheduled to work until ten."

"I’m your boss," he says, pointing a finger and smiling, "and what I say goes."

We say this last part together, making us, Steve, and the group of girls laugh.

I sigh, "if it gets you off my back, then fine."

He laughs now. Ben’s not thin, nor is he fat. He’s lean, yes, his arms are all muscle too, so that’s why it’s sometimes hard for him to remove his jacket and tie his apron, but because he’s raising a child by himself, he’s older in appearance than he really is. The man is actually only in his early forties, but he does look like he’s in his fifties. I give him a hug, hug his daughter again, then clock out and sit down at a table, making an order to Steve.