An Ordinary and Rich Pumpkin Pudding

I am completely burnt out. I only just started my third year as a working professional, but I find every day so incredibly boring.

I was supposed to have joined my dream company. In the Outlook profile picture I set two years ago, my eyes are sparkling. My skin is glowing, too. Even when I was transferred from Tokyo to Hiroshima six months after joining, I was excited to eat my way through every single okonomiyaki in the prefecture.

As I tied back my hair, which I had stopped dyeing and was now half my natural color, I sighed at the chin acne reflected in the mirror. In my head, the glowing new employee was rolling her shoulders and bragging, 'In two years, I'll be a super-capable career woman!' I squeezed the pimple with all my might.

Sorry about that. You didn't become a super-capable career woman. Now in my third year, I spend my days mindlessly performing tasks that have become completely routine. These routines include getting caught by the office queen bee during my morning rounds to listen to her complaints for 30 minutes, and getting caught by the part-time staff at a client's office during sales calls to listen to their complaints for 30 minutes. I was supposed to be admired as a sparkling senior employee, but no new employees ever come to Hiroshima.

Some of my peers have been promoted and started being assigned different work. I commiserate with the peers who are still in the same position as me, saying things like, 'I don't want a promotion because the overtime will increase, right?' In reality, I want a promotion so badly.

Even though nothing particularly bad has happened, for some reason I desperately didn't want to go to work, so I slumped onto the sofa. I picked up my smartphone and searched Google for 'third year of work boring.' Then, Gemini appeared dashingly at the top and left behind the comment, 'This is a typical common occurrence.' Ugh, shut up.

I am ordinary through and through. My best book report never gets selected, the university I entered after studying so hard has a deviation score of 55, and no matter how cursedly hard I try with beauty, I can't become a model or an actress.

I know I'm just an ordinary third-year employee. But the road to the office where I drag my lead-heavy feet, and the heartbeat that quickens from being crushed by anxiety—these aren't things that can be dismissed as 'common occurrences.' My eyelids welled up. Even so, the time to go to work arrives. I swung both legs and stood up.

In the office an hour past closing time, people are sparsely remaining. With the eyes of a dead fish, I clicked the clock-out button. When I happened to look at the table three rows away, a peer had the same expression, which was a bit funny. She and I are friends who lick each other's wounds while eating dinner together every now and then, but it seems we have been harboring the same worries lately. Realizing that Gemini's 'common occurrence' was confirmed, I jutted my chin out in my mind.

“Why are you jutting your chin out?”

I opened my eyes wide at the voice of the peer who had appeared nearby before I knew it. Apparently, I really was jutting my chin out. I quietly pulled my chin back and changed the subject.

“Since we worked hard today, let's go eat at some fancy Italian place.”

Absorbing the fatigue of work into expensive and delicious food is the only skill I can say I've acquired in these past two years. On a Monday night when we had reached our limits early, the two of us headed to a fancy Italian restaurant.

Dim lighting and rows of wine glasses. A platter of Amaou strawberries and prosciutto, sea bream carpaccio, homemade hamburger steak... A woman with her blonde hair pulled back tightly into a bun whispers the descriptions of the dishes to us. It is truly a stylish space. However, because we eat while grumbling things like, 'Wow, this is super stylish—it feels like Tokyo (in Hiroshima)' and 'This is totally different from Saizeriya!', it probably isn't stylish at all.

After stuffing ourselves with style, we start choosing dessert, using 'because I worked hard' as an excuse. I was excited to see 'Basque Cheesecake,' 'Setouchi Lemon Sherbet,' 'Gateau Chocolat,' and many others lined up on the menu. As I kept looking, I found 'Rich Pumpkin Pudding' at the bottom. Why are you the only one who is 'rich'? Does it mean 'Pumpkin Pudding' alone can't compete? I don't know, but I was intensely drawn to it and ordered it. Because it's rich, after all. Beside me, my peer is laughing and saying, 'You're so simple.'

The dish that arrived quietly was indeed rich. A smooth cream was drizzled over the pumpkin pudding, and an orange slice and mint were perched on top. Just looking at it made me excited; it was special. It's nice, it feels rich.

I scoop a small amount with my spoon and slowly carry it to my mouth. The scent of pumpkin spreads softly in my mouth, and I remembered the low dining table at my parents' house.

It tasted similar to the pumpkin pudding my mother used to make. It was not too sweet, had a grainy texture, and was a flavor I didn't like much as a child but have come to crave occasionally as an adult. In short, it was a flavor so ordinary it was comforting.

Holding my full stomach, I stepped out of the fancy Italian restaurant. My stomach was heavy, but I felt my heart had become a little lighter. While waiting for the traffic light, I waved goodbye to my peer, who was sending me off with a brighter face than when we left the office, saying, 'Good work!' Because I have times like this, I feel like I can work again—I am, after all, an ordinary office worker.

Even so, when I curl up in my blanket and remember it, the pudding I scooped with the Hello Kitty spoon from my parents' house or the small spoon at the fancy Italian restaurant melted on my tongue with a special sweetness.