Moments of peace in the customer service office were rare.
But when they came, they looked exactly like this.
Angela—the proud and perpetually annoyed princess of the department—was lazily examining her fingernails while flipping through a fashion magazine.
Camille, the girl with glasses, had her eyes glued to the computer screen, quietly playing some kind of game.
And me?
I was dying of boredom.
Out of pure habit, I reached into my pocket and pulled out a cigarette.
I had barely touched the lighter when Angela's sharp voice sliced through the air.
"Can't you read?"
I looked up.
She was glaring at me like I had just committed a crime.
"There's a No Smoking sign right there in the room."
Honestly, this girl irritated me more than any angry customer ever could.
The way she spoke—sharp, sarcastic, and dripping with disdain—made me want to punch a hole through the wall.
Camille, however, turned toward me with a cheerful smile.
"Miguel, you're addicted to cigarettes too?"
She laughed softly.
"Just hold on a little longer. You can smoke after lunch."
Lunch.
The moment she mentioned food, my stomach twisted violently.
I had woken up far earlier than usual today, and the only thing in my stomach all morning was a cup of coffee.
Now the hunger was starting to feel dangerous.
I glanced at the clock.
11:00 AM.
Turning to Camille, I asked pitifully,
"So… when exactly is lunchtime around here? I'm starving."
She chuckled at my desperate expression.
"Alright, alright. I'll take you to eat."
Then she turned toward Angela.
"Ate Angela, could you cover the phones for a bit?"
Angela didn't even lift her head from the magazine.
Her cold voice floated across the room.
"Go eat quickly and come back. Someone actually has to work here."
I ignored her completely.
Arguing while starving was a losing battle.
Camille led me to a small eatery tucked inside a narrow alley beside the company building.
The alley was packed.
Office workers in white shirts mixed with laborers whose backs were soaked with sweat.
The air was thick with heat and the smell of food.
After a few minutes of squeezing through the crowd, we finally found two plastic stools in a corner that felt like a portable sauna.
I wiped sweat from my forehead.
"Why do you eat here?" I asked. "It's like an oven. There are air-conditioned lunch places across the street from the company."
Camille looked at me like I had just landed from Mars.
"If we ate there," she said patiently, "our entire salary would go toward lunch."
I blinked.
"Wait… how much does the company pay us?"
"Well," she said casually, "you're new, so maybe around eight thousand pesos a month."
She pointed at herself.
"I've worked here longer, so I get around twelve thousand."
"And Angela probably earns close to fifteen."
I stared at her.
Was she joking?
They expected me to work thirty days a month for that kind of money?
Eight thousand pesos?
That was barely enough for a few nights of coffee and drinks with my friends.
I had assumed that since Roberto was my father's friend, he would at least offer me a respectable salary.
Had I known the truth earlier, I would have stayed home playing video games. It would've saved my parents more money.
Was this some kind of prank?
But before my anger could grow too large, the smell of food reached my nose.
And instantly erased my bad mood.
This little place might look humble, but the aroma told me everything I needed to know.
The food was good.
I prided myself on having excellent taste in food. My judgment was rarely wrong.
Unfortunately, when the plates arrived…
I frowned.
Each dish looked like it had been portioned for a bird.
Two bites and it would disappear.
"Is that everything?" I asked.
Camille blinked.
"What do you mean?"
"There's barely any food here."
She stared at me.
"You eat a lot, don't you?"
She pointed around the eatery.
"Everyone eats the same portion. It's a lunch set. If you want more, you have to order extra."
Without waiting for another explanation, I pointed rapidly at half the dishes displayed near the counter.
"Bring those too."
People around us stopped eating and stared.
Apparently I looked like a starving ghost that had just returned to the world of the living.
Camille's eyes widened.
"Are you seriously going to eat all that?"
I shrugged and handed her a bowl.
"I'm not sure yet. But it's better to order too much than too little."
She opened her mouth as if she wanted to protest… but eventually gave up.
Meanwhile, I attacked the food like a warrior.
Honestly, I couldn't remember the last time rice tasted this good.
At home I rarely felt hungry. The refrigerator was always full of snacks, fruit, milk—everything.
And when I went out, there was always another drinking session waiting somewhere.
My stomach had almost forgotten what hunger felt like.
Camille finished eating long before I did.
By the time I was done, more than half the food was still left on the table.
She stared at the dishes in disbelief.
"I've never seen anyone eat like you before," she sighed. "This is such a waste."
I grinned and waved for the waitress.
"Bill, please."
The girl looked over the table and did a quick calculation.
"Three hundred pesos."
I blinked.
That was ridiculously cheap.
Seeing Camille reaching into her bag, I quickly raised a hand.
"Don't worry. I've got it."
I puffed up proudly.
"A gentleman never lets a lady pay."
With great confidence, I reached into my back pocket.
And froze.
Something was wrong.
My wallet wasn't there.
My fingers touched nothing but… my own backside.
My heart dropped.
I had changed into those stupid office pants this morning and forgotten to bring my wallet from the jeans at home.
My face turned red.
Then pale.
The waitress stood there staring impatiently.
I wanted to crawl under the table and disappear forever.
Before I could say anything, Camille's gentle voice broke the silence.
"Today's lunch is on me," she said softly.
She handed the money to the waitress.
"Consider it a welcome meal for the new guy."
I'm not a saint.
I've done plenty of questionable things in my life.
But inviting a girl to lunch and then making her pay?
That level of embarrassment was new.
Walking back to the office, I kept my head down.
Every pair of eyes we passed seemed to say the same thing:
Look at that guy. Inviting a girl to lunch without bringing money.
Camille, however, acted as if nothing had happened. She chatted casually while we walked.
I refused to look at her.
I refused to speak.
Until we finally reached the office building.
Then, with the last fragments of my dignity crumbling, I muttered quietly:
"Camille… could you lend me ten pesos?"
She turned toward me.
"For what?"
I cleared my throat.
"…Parking fee."
And somehow, that humiliating moment would become the beginning of a debt I absolutely had to repay the next day.