#kirsteingf

I knew from a young age that I was different from all the other girls in my class, mainly because of how they'd treat me. I was always picked last for team games, always on the outside of little inside jokes, as if everyone else had a place and I was just... there.

But looking back, I'd go through that a thousand times before I ever stepped foot in my high school again. Kids could be cruel, sure, but I doubt they were doing it on purpose. In high school, though? Nah, they knew. And they wanted it to hurt.

That was the greatest thing about being an adult, I thought, not having to surround myself with those people anymore. It was freeing.

The kind of freedom that lived in small things. Sunlight seeping in through the small cracks in my blinds, casting golden lines across my kitchen tiles. Steam curling from my cheap kettle, the smell of coffee brewing in my mug.

I held onto these moments as I dressed, as I tied my boots, as I slung my bag over my shoulder. Little anchors. Enough to keep me steady before I headed to work.

A cool blast of air came through the vents as my car's engine hummed to life, the leftover night chill still trapped in the system.

Tyres crunched over gravel when I backed out of the space, the roads at their quietest-too early for school runs, too late for the night shift. My phone shuffled through the same old, tired playlist I usually listened to, filling the space with a warm familiarity I could tap my fingers along to.

By the time I pulled into the staff parking lot at Highline Forest Park, the sun had risen high enough to warm the towers and platforms. I cut the engine, plunging myself into silence, and closed my eyes, my head falling back against the chair.

Just one little moment of calm before the storm.

And as always, some loud mouth came along to ruin the peace.

A sudden loud bang against my car hood ripped me from the silence, and a scowl quickly replaced the serene expression on my face. I glared at my co-worker, who was now stood centimetres from my window with a wide grin, his breath fogging up the glass as he waved excitedly-too excitedly for a Monday morning in this cold.

"Fuckin' moron," I muttered under my breath, opening the door without worrying whether he'd moved out of the way or not, and slung my backpack over my shoulder. "What's got you so hyped up?"

Connie shrugged, falling into step beside me once I'd locked the car.

"New dawn." His hands rose to his side, chin pointing upwards as he breathed in the morning air, and then broke out into song. "New day, new life-ow!"

I whacked his arm with the back of my hand, smirking as I watched him rub it furiously-as if I'd even hit him that hard.

"Bro, you're such a vibe killer."

"Yeah, well, you're loud," I retorted, pushing open the door to reception and letting him walk ahead. "And it's early, dipshit."

"Morning, morning, morning!" Hange, our manager, sang from the desk as we walked in, their voice piercing my eardrums at the same volume as Connie's.

Only difference was I couldn't hit Hange and call them a dipshit.

"Morning," I replied with a slow exhale, nodding towards them before shoving my bag into one of the lockers. Then I turned to Connie again, watching as he took off his beanie and jacket. "So, where's Tweedledee, anyway?"

"Sasha?" he asked without looking up, rummaging for something in his bag. "She's-wait, why do I have to be Tweedledum?" The wrapper of his cereal bar crinkled as he turned and flashed me an offended look.

"It's in the name," I shrugged, offering him no further explanation. If he couldn't figure it out, then yeah-Tweedledum fit perfectly.

As if on cue, the door swung open, slamming into the stopper, and in bounded Sasha.

"Good morning, my little spider monkeys!" she yelled, tossing her bag to the floor and nearly taking out Connie's ankles in the process.

I excused myself before they could rope me into their bullshit, leaning over the front desk to nose at the agenda for today. Hange slammed her hand over the sheet of paper, obscuring my view, and then snatched it back.

"Spoilers," they warned, haphazardly folding it in half and then shoving it into their jacket pocket. Then they clapped suddenly, the sound echoing through the small space. "Right. Team huddle!"

I heard Sasha and Connie groan under their breaths, and honestly, I would have too if I wasn't within earshot.

Hange counted us off quietly to themself despite there only being three of us, and then paused. Their eyes narrowed as they recounted.

"Yeah, Hitch is late again," I interrupted, gesturing between the very small group congregating in the middle of the room.

Their expression tightened in irritation, but they quickly shook it off and forced a smile. "Well. No bother, we'll just...start without her."

While they spoke, I let my mind wander; it was the same thing every morning anyway: season's almost over, we're short-staffed, blah blah blah.

My attention slid off their words like water off plastic. I'd heard this speech enough to recite it in my sleep. The only thing able to grasp it again was Hitch finally walking through the door-sunglasses on, drink in hand, staring at her phone like she wasn't 15 minutes late.

"So nice of you to join us, Hitch!" Hange exclaimed, pushing their glasses further up the bridge of their nose to beam at her with exaggerated excitement.

Hitch looked up at us over her sunglasses, the straw of her iced coffee sitting between her teeth, and flashed a smile. "Aw. Thanks!"

"Sarcasm! That was sarcasm-you're late! Again."

My eyes darted between them like I was watching a tennis match where their words were the ball, and Connie and Sasha were the net.

"I know, I know. You can save the lecture, okay?" She waved them off, unwrapping the scarf from around her neck and placing her drink down on the counter.

I raised a brow towards Hange, like 'are you gonna let that slide?' and I swear I saw their eye twitch.

But instead of losing it, they just drew in a slow breath and then let it out again with a smile. "You know what? Never mind. It's fine-be late. Do what you want."

Hitch dumped her coat in her locker and took another obnoxiously loud sip of her coffee, before finally joining so Hange could finish the meeting.

This was a normal occurrence, Hitch's lateness and Hange's obvious frustration. At this point, I was taking bets with myself on whether Hange would finally snap and fire her, or just throw her off the highest zip line tower we had. Honestly, my money's on the tower.

Unfortunately, my entertainment was cut short when Hange handed out the work assignments for the day. I'm not sure what I'd done to piss them off, but health and safety briefing? Really? Why me of all people?

I couldn't complain, though, so I just made my way over to the filing cabinet for some waiver forms, sighing heavily as I pulled it open. No clue why these weren't digitised yet, especially when whoever uses the last sheet never bothers to replace it.

"For fuck sake," I muttered, metal crashing together as I slammed the door shut. "Who was on death watch the other day?"

"Oops," Hitch called out from the other room, sounding about as sorry as a brick wall.

Of fucking course.

To avoid another HR call-in, I gritted my teeth and instead trudged over to the staff computer to print some off. Apparently I was the only one in this building capable of doing anything.

By the time they were all stapled and ready to go, I barely even had a minute to breathe before Connie was yelling my name from the entrance.

"Ymir! Your group's here!"

A barely audible groan slipped out before I pushed forward to the briefing room, letting my hand linger on the handle for a beat, just long enough to fix my face. As Hange would say: "Smiles are contagious; use that against them. Happy customers keep us employed!"

I couldn't tell if they were ever being serious, but nonetheless, I forced a customer-service smile and headed out to meet the group.

One of the good things about this job was how fast the days went by. I was constantly on my feet, talking to hundreds of different people, answering the same dumb questions over and over. Cyclical, sure, but it could be worse.

It could always be worse.

And hey-if I was lucky, I'd get to hear the man who swore he wasn't scared scream like a little girl after jumping off the platform. It's the little things.

By the time the last group had checked in, I was already mentally halfway home. The day had been tolerable, but there were only so many dumb questions I could take in one day. Just one more briefing, one more round of babysitting adults in harnesses, and I was free.

I went through our ground rules for the final time that day, explaining everything from fitting the harness to the landing procedure, and then began helping them with their equipment. Concerned parents were nothing new, but my God, this woman.

"Make sure that harness is tight. I don't want any accidents."

I made a show of tightening her daughter's harness, flashing her a sarcastic smile before clipping the carabiners onto the hoops.

She didn't return it, just turned to her daughter with a gentle, but stiff, hand on her shoulder. "Sweetie, don't let her rush you. Take your time, okay?"

I swear, parents like these make me wish I was unemployed.

Then, as if she couldn't get any more uptight, she froze, and I felt something in the room shift.

"I didn't realise staff were allowed to advertise their...personal preferences."

I quickly realised that she was referring to the heart-shaped rainbow sticker on my staff badge, the one Sasha had slapped on there in June. No one ever commented on it, kids never noticed, so I just left it there.

"It's just a sticker," I said flatly, not even bothering to look up at her.

"Oh, I'm sure it is," she replied, her tone steady and smile tight. She not-so-discretely guided her daughter behind her, like she was shielding her from something unsafe. "I'd just... still prefer if someone else handled my daughter."

"Lucky for both of us, we're done here." I replied curtly, standing to my feet and then radioing to Sasha that the last group were on their way up.

Fucking bitch.

I didn't even bother guiding them to the next station. I just walked straight out, shoving the door open with a bit more force than necessary. Luckily, it was empty. No wide eyes, no "What happened?", no pity I didn't want.

I could fake being fine most days. I'd had years of practice. But here? One look and they always knew when a group had gotten under my skin.

Usually, I'd be jumping at the opportunity to bitch about it with Connie or Sasha. But this? Nah.