Our story begins on a Tuesday in the cafeteria of minimum wage jobs. None of us wanted to be there; then again, who wants to work a job that only allowed a bare minimum of living? We were just three strange faces who barely knew each other. Our shifts were different, so we were passing faces to one another. Strangers in the same boat but on different ends. Until the monthly meeting took place.

Anabel “Andi” Mesle showed up wearing a threadbare sweater and ripped jeans. In one hand, she clutched an iced coffee from the local coffee shop down the street. In the other, she held an energy drink. A yellow purse hung from one of her shoulders. Dark circles hung under her foggy crystal eyes. Her blonde hair sat in a messy bun at the base of her head.

Matthew Smith was a man of medium height with a sharp chin, straight brown hair, and eyes to match. He wore a clean uniform and carried nothing. He held the door open for Andi. He twirled his keys and whistling a musical tune. Andi shrugged by him. She looked over her shoulder and gave him the glare of someone who had just crawled out of bed.

It was a twelve o’clock- sunny with no chance of rain Friday. Andi, I knew, had gotten off work about six hours prior. She spotted the empty seat across from me in the booth and took it. Matthew sat at a table several feet from us and stretched out his legs before taking a seat.

I was due to get off work in another hour; I’d been wishing to go home all day. My eyes darted to the cheap watch on my wrist. Unlike the other two, I was all of six feet tall and squished into a crumpled uniform. My feet ached, my hands cramped. Isn’t restaurant work fun? Our boss wasn’t there yet, so I pulled out my phone. Matthew did as well—scrolling through social media. Andi reached into her purse and pulled out a piece of paper and four six-sided dice. Meanwhile, I texted my best friend and told him I was going to be late.

Another meeting? Andrew texted back.

They happen once a month, Drew, I replied with a disgruntled emoji.

I can’t start the session without you, was his next message.

Sure you can, just say I’m still sleeping.

In the middle of a bar fight?

 My character would totally hide under a table, drunk. LOL.

Ugh. Fine.

I knew Andrew wasn’t happy; neither was I. This meeting had been scheduled for a week later than when it was. But “something came up,” the head manager said. Sure. Whatever.

Andi acknowledges me without a single hello. “Look, I know that whatever you’re doing is just to pass the time until McFatFace comes in, but can you keep it down?”

I look up from my phone to see two blurry blue eyes giving me a fierce stare. Is this why women lived longer than men? Sheepishly I nodded and turned my phone on vibrate. Equally, I acknowledged her without a hello.

“You look like shit Andi,” I said bluntly.

“And you, Dagen, look like well put together shit,” Andi replied.

She threw up her arms, stretched, then opened her cup of ice coffee and poured in the energy drink.

“That’s a lot of caffeine.” I watched the bright green liquid of the energy drink mix with the tan of the coffee. “Does that even taste good?”

“That’s not the point. I have a session in three hours, and I was hoping to get at least one hour of sleep in beforehand.” Andi yawned and took a large gulp of the concoction. My brain short-circuited on the word session, and it took me a moment to look down at the paper she had pulled out of her purse. It was a character sheet for a fifth level character.

“You’re a player,” I beamed; a smile stretched across my face.

“No, I’m a dungeon master,” Andi corrected, then laughed. “No- that sounds like a nightmare. I’m joking. Yeah, I’m a player.”

There were a million different things I could have said, asked, or suggested. But instead, I only voiced a single question: “Tell me about your campaign. Tell me the story.”

“It’s a story told in dice,” Matthew spoke up with a chuckle. “I’m Matthew Smith- Andi’s DM. And yes, it is a nightmare. You should have seen what chaos this high elf wizard pulled last week.”

“You let me do it!”

“I didn’t think it was going to work!”

 “Relatable,” I said and listened as they recounted their adventure.

Featured Image by Nick Fewings on UnSplash