He sat at the table completely differently this time. Not exhausted, not irritated like before, slumping onto that uncomfortable plastic chair (the one with the annoyingly narrow backrest). He leaned on his elbow, casually. Pushed the plastic tray a bit further away. Dug into the cold, flavorless fries. Picked one up, stared it down for a moment, then tossed it back in with the others. Dry, bland crap. Who the hell wants to eat that? He flexed his arm and glanced toward the young girls at the next table, wondering if they were noticing the thick, well-shaped bicep—and the flashy watch on his wrist. A great piece—because even amateurs could guess it wasn’t cheap. The tiny gemstones on the dial caught the light beautifully. Real eye-candy. “Jewelry-watch,” the salesman had called it. Whatever. He checked the time on his phone anyway. He never liked messing with analog dials. Or the tiny lines. Especially when the big hand sat between two of them. Who the hell knows what time that is exactly? Eh, who cares. That’s what phones are for.
He probably should’ve put the phone on the table too. No big deal—he’d fake a call in a minute. The girls had to see this device. If he had to sit here roasting in the sun, might as well make it count.
He turned his head toward the wave pool. God, how he used to hate that place! All those dumb kids used to trample each other, and then they had to fish out the ones gasping for air. Even now he couldn’t stand the collective screeching that started the instant the wave machine kicked in—like clockwork. Although, it would be nice to cool off. Maybe later he’d head over to the back pool for a quick dip. Except that place was crawling with posers and show-offs. He still needed to work out more for that. Otherwise, he’d just make a fool of himself. Even if—let’s be honest—those idiots out there probably didn’t make in a year what he raked in each month.
Hell, maybe he’d dangle his legs in just to make a point. Let the little shits get a good look at the watch. And the phone. Money shuts them all up. Except the girls—they go the opposite way. Can’t stop talking. Start flirting right away. Smart move. That’s why his sweaty thighs were sticking to this goddamn chair.
He stood up. Instinctively grabbed the tray to toss it in the trash. Then froze. Yeah, right. Like hell he was cleaning up after himself. Let someone else deal with that—just like he used to, back in the day. Some underpaid loser would come wipe down the table. He used to do that too, without complaint. Scraping off disgusting chewed-up leftovers from trays—when the rats who left them couldn’t even be bothered to clean up after themselves. Didn’t matter if he wore gloves; the mess still got all over him—sauces, grease, sticky crap up to his elbows. God, he hated those filthy slobs. He shook his head. Shouldn’t have brought all that back up. He didn’t have to do that shit anymore.
Now he made real money. The watch was so heavy it nearly dragged his wrist down. His phone? Only a few stores even had it yet. And the new car? Arriving in a few weeks.
Who the hell cared what he used to do?
Back then, he’d sworn that if he ever made it through those years—living day to day—he’d never set foot in this shitty water park again. But sometimes you just had to. Sometimes you had to show someone—like that greasy-faced pig over there—that you weren’t some lowlife. That you had money. For anything. Unlike that grubby bastard, stuffing his face with limp fries that didn’t even come with salt.
He smirked. Served that clueless bitch right.
What’d she think—that he’d sit there quietly while she poured his beer like crap? She’d better learn how this works. If she wanted to keep the job. She needed to understand that not everyone here was some broke nobody saving up for vacation for five years. There were people like him, too. That watch on his wrist wasn’t just for show—it was a message. One look and you’d get it.
He expected that beer to be poured properly. Not slammed onto a tray so it spilled everywhere. Especially if he had to carry it to the table. The table with no umbrella. And the chair that scorched his thighs the second he sat down. What a dump.
Seriously, these losers needed to pull themselves together. If the universe occasionally dumped him in with them, the least they could do was act like humans.