What I Did Not Hand Over
Seven years ago, I was punched hard in the left side of my chest.
I fell backward onto the dripping wet kitchen floor.
My ribs were crushed, and my breath escaped me.
Even so, I chose to remain silent.
At work, my senior would badmouth the junior staff to me. I hated being forced to listen to her gossip.
After driving two people to quit, my senior was still smiling as if nothing had happened.
As soon as one person left, another junior staff member would become her target.
What was she so dissatisfied about? Why was she laughing? There was nothing funny about any of it.
My senior's voice was loud enough to echo throughout the entire kitchen.
I once rebuked her, saying, "At that volume, they can hear you."
"That's the point," she retorted.
She said it as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
A few days later, the junior staff member was gone from the kitchen.
Hospitalized due to stress.
That was the third person since my senior arrived in this kitchen.
Without a hint of remorse, my senior continued to speak ill of the juniors who had quit.
"Good riddance, right?"
I grew tired of listening to my senior.
I decided then and there.
I will no longer follow this person.
When my senior started compiling the store's cost sheets, I did not hand over the cost sheet for my department.
I knew what would happen if I did such a thing. My senior stopped coming near me.
I could no longer hear anyone badmouthing others near me.
Instead, I started hearing them badmouthing me from afar.
I had wished for this outcome myself.
If it's a choice between badmouthing others or being the one badmouthed, I'd rather be the one badmouthed.
I will not hand over the cost sheet.
In exchange, I was punched hard in the heart. The next morning, when I woke up, a sharp pain shot through me.
Just moving my body a little made me break out in a cold sweat.
I worked even with my ribs distorted.
The prep work did not progress as I had hoped.
If I do the prep work, pay me. I'm using my time, so I deserve compensation, right?
Whenever my senior said 'clink,' I had to pay 500 yen. They would take my prep work without permission and then demand money for it.
I did not hand over the cost sheet the following month either.
The month after that, and the month after that, I didn't hand it over every month.
My senior's hostility became directed solely at me.
I was made to pay for their yakiniku,
made to pay for their drinks,
had my wallet snatched away,
and was forced to prostrate myself at the drinking party.
A headache rang out and would not cease every single day.
But I would not hand over the cost sheet.
Gradually, it became difficult for me to hear my senior's voice.
Only my senior's words were hard to make out.
I was repeatedly told to 'buy a hearing aid'.
I once consulted the head chef at the time about things like having my money taken,
but he just said,
'I used to do that too.'
It ended with me listening to a war story that wasn't really a war story.
When my wallet was taken, I hesitated about whether to sue.
'Don't eat anything on your way home, hand over your wallet.'
I resisted, but my wallet was taken.
Out of mercy, my PASMO card was returned.
An expired PASMO card.
I was unable to return home.
The next morning, my wallet was returned.
The wallet was missing its zipper.
In the end, I never handed the cost sheet over to my senior.
I endured until my senior moved to another store.
What I did not hand over back then,
my senior probably thinks it was the cost sheet, but they are wrong.
That cost sheet was me
I,
did not hand myself over
That day, I chose to be hated
I do not think this choice was a mistake
I have no regrets