The tires of my red scooter smack hard in the large puddles. It is pouring rain and I feel everything sticking to my body. I walk on hastily, gripping the handlebars of my scooter tightly. I only have one more delivery to make and my workday will be over. I quickly jump back on my scooter, put on my red helmet, and in no time I am back on the road on the hard highway. The trees, houses, people, streetlights, barking dogs on leashes, cars—they all fly past me like a fast-paced movie playing. I quickly look around; I know I am on the right street, number 47 must be somewhere around here. Thank God the streetlights are still lit, otherwise I really wouldn't be able to see a thing. Then suddenly out of nowhere, as if struck by lightning, number 47 appears on my retina and my brain sends signals to my hands at lightning speed. I brake as hard as I can and make a half-turn U-turn. I calmly let my scooter coast until it has come to a complete stop, and then I carefully dismount. With both hands gripping the handlebars, I walk quietly across the street to number 47. I park my scooter in the large garden—yes, they really do have a gigantic garden; I think this is one of the wealthiest neighborhoods in all of Vancouver. I lock my scooter and then walk through the narrow passageway to the front door. I ring the doorbell. An old lady opens the door and looks at me confused. “Good evening, ma’am, you ordered a pepperoni pizza and a quatro formaggi pizza?” The lady who opens the door indeed looks just as chic as her house. She is wearing a gold cashmere nightgown with sparkling rubies as buttons, and her slippers are made of gold vicuna fabric, on which those same shiny rubies glitter brightly in the golden-yellow light of the setting sun. I notice myself staring at her and quickly blink a few times. Then the old lady clears her throat and says in a very cool tone: "May I take a look inside the boxes?" And before I can answer, she yanks the one box containing the pepperoni pizza out of my hands and opens it. Her face slowly turns glowing red and her expression is stormy. Then she slams the box shut again and shoves it back into my hands. "May I take a look at the other one too?" Again, she does not wait for my answer and, before I realize it, yanks the other pizza box out of my hands, leaving the box containing the pizza it was filled with pepperoni, and falls to the ground with a thud. I feel a deep sense of shame welling up and quickly pick up the fallen pizza box. Meanwhile, the old lady has already opened the pizza box containing the quatro formaggi, and she slams that pizza shut again with a bang and aggressively shoves it back into my hands. "These aren't the pizzas I ordered!" she sniffs. "I literally had your boss on the phone just a few hours ago and told him very clearly that it was a pizza vegetariana and Hawaiian." The old woman is now looking at me incredibly threateningly, and it seems as if she wants to hit me at any moment. "But ma'am, I am literally carrying out what my boss received from you. And this is the order I received from him. I'm sorry, but there must have been a miscommunication somewhere," I say clumsily. I try to keep looking at her, but I notice that it is really taking a lot of effort to stay calm. These kinds of situations actually happen to me daily. You see, I live with my mother in a small apartment on the outskirts of Vancouver, and to put it mildly, we are not very rich. In fact, we are quite poor and belong to the lower class of society. It is fortunate that my father bought this apartment years ago, even before I was born. Sadly, my father passed away a very long time ago. He died when I was two years old, so I don't really have any fresh memories of him. I do have very vague memories, but of course, that doesn't get you anywhere! On top of that, my mother has a muscle disorder that prevents her from walking at all, let alone moving. In fact, for as long as I can remember, she has been in a wheelchair and requires care day and night. My father cared for my mother until his death, and since I was two years old at the time, it was naturally difficult for me to take care of her. So then my grandmother, on my father's side, came to live with us and took care of me and my mother, until she, too, was eventually left to fend for herself. Fortunately, my grandmother did die of old age. As for my father How he died remains a complete mystery to me to this day. According to my mother, my father owned a bakery just outside Vancouver and worked there 24 hours a day, day and night.

I am startled out of my thoughts when the woman in front of me suddenly says very sharply and firmly: "Well, then I don't want them, just take them back and I'll contact your boss, because this really won't do! And you can forget about your tip altogether, girl!" Stunned, I stare at her while simultaneously shrugging my shoulders in my imagination. I have to deal with these kinds of customers every day, especially when they are incredibly rich. They get a kick out of screaming at and exploiting people like me—who don't have much money, and they can see that. So far, I haven't encountered a single one who actually showed a bit of empathy or could at least react somewhat normally. Before I can even respond, she slams the front door shut in my face. And there I stand...

Sighing, I turn around again and walk towards my red scooter. As I said before, this is a daily routine for me. This is yet another customer who isn't satisfied and is going to threaten to call my boss and blah blah blah. Sometimes I think to myself, how long on earth can I keep this up?! My life really couldn't be any more miserable than it already is. Once I get back to my scooter, I see a little cat's head pop out of the back of my scooter. "Hey, Lee!" I say to my little feline friend. Lee is my little black tuxedo cat and my very best friend, and I got him from my mother two years ago for my 22nd birthday. She had found Lee by chance in a garbage bag on the side of the road when she went outside to take out the trash, wheelchair and all. He looked awful; it was so sad! He was completely wild, his hair was sticking out in all directions, there were knots and tangles everywhere, he could barely wash himself, because he was sticky on all sides. My mother felt so sorry for him that, thank God, she took him home and then managed to clean him completely on her own! Don't ask me how, but she succeeded! And my birthday happened to be coming up at the time, and since all our money goes to rent and fixed expenses, she hadn't been able to buy me a present yet. I didn't hold it against her. In fact, I have never held it against her. After all, I don't know any better. I have actually never really received a birthday present. And of course, my mother couldn't help that at all. But anyway, long story short: when the big day finally arrived (meant sarcastically, of course, because I don't give a damn about my birthday), she stood next to my bed in her wheelchair early in the morning and woke me up, after which I looked directly into two very large brown tubes. I was instantly completely sold: Lee was the cutest and sweetest little creature I had ever seen! I have always had a huge soft spot for cats, and for all animals in general, but this was truly on another level. It immediately felt like I was standing face to face with my soulmate, my other half, my buddy for life! My little friend, who would go everywhere with me and would never, ever leave me. My buddy in sickness and in health, and that is exactly how it turned out. Because to this day, I haven't felt alone for a single second since Lee came into my life. He truly means everything to me, and I to him! I had left the trunk of my scooter slightly ajar with a small metal stick so that Lee could always get out should he feel the need. Sometimes I also put him in my bag. You are probably thinking right now: what kind of weird chick is this?! She puts her own cat in the trunk of her scooter and takes him along in her own bag! Yes, that is right! Because I make sure Lee gets optimal comfort, both in the trunk of my scooter and in my bag. The trunk is actually full of small cat cushions and contains all kinds of cat toys and cat treats, plus I always make sure that I am not too Ride fast for Lee. And the same goes for my bag. My bag is made of super soft, comfortable fabric, and what's more, it's big enough for Lee in terms of space. Yes, my little friend is my everything! And how did I get that red scooter, by the way? I got it from work, or rather, I borrowed it from work to deliver pizzas. My contract only expires when I decide to leave, and then, of course, I have to return the scooter to my boss. Did I tell you about my boss yet, by the way? No? Well, here it is then: my boss is the biggest asshole on the planet. I can't imagine anyone as sexist and money-driven as he is. I can only describe him as a huge money-grubber. I happen to be, and at the same time unfortunately, the only girl on the team, which means I fall prey to all his sexist remarks and jokes every single time. I'm not going to repeat them all now and explain them in detail, because I'll go crazy by the end of the evening!

Sighing, I get back on my scooter. Before I start it, I always check to make sure Lee is sitting properly. And if not, I put him in my bag. Yes, I know it sounds very weird and illogical, but believe me, my bag is pretty sturdy and it’s practically glued to my body. So it’s impossible for Lee to fly out, even though he weighs only 4 kilos. Yes, he’s just out of his kitten phase, but he is quite small and skinny, so that’s why. I start my scooter and then we ride back towards Chinatown, which is where I live in a small flat with my mother. As I mentioned before, my mother and I are not exactly well-off, to put it mildly. We can barely afford the rent for the flat. Under us lives an incredibly sociable lady (meant sarcastically) Mrs. Gill also lives with us, and she, let me put it this way, does not hesitate to make it clear that we have to pay her neatly and properly every month before the 1st of the month. By hesitate, I actually mean almost threatening, because oh my god, that woman is just scary. Every time around the end of the month, she practically smashes the door of our flat in half; that is how hard she knocks on our door. Mind you, she is quite sturdy and possesses kilos of muscle mass. She once told me (please don't ask me why) that she used to be in the Canadian Women's Army before she took this job as a landlord, and that she also did wrestling and shot put in her spare time. That doesn't surprise me at all! I drive onto the highway and before I know it, I am home. Yes, they were the last two pizzas I had to deliver, and since that woman didn't want the pizzas, I just took one for myself and my mother. Well, we have to eat something, after all, and since we eat pretty much the same thing every night (actually just soup) and I didn't feel like going to the supermarket right now, the choice seems pretty simple to me. I bring my scooter to a stop and then get off quietly. With my bag on my shoulder, with Lee inside, I walk to the entrance of the small apartment building where my mother and I live. Before I step inside, I take one very deep breath. I know that once I walk into the hallway, Mrs. Gill will speak to me immediately, because naturally she wants to know where her money is. That woman is so incredibly greedy for money that it is simply sickening. But anyway, I’m used to it. I quickly sneak past Mrs. Gill’s little room. In a flash, I see her sitting with her head bowed over her desk, so hopefully she hasn't noticed or heard me. But then I hear my shoe squeak just as it hits the wooden floor, and I see Mrs. Gill jerk her head away! Oh, no, I think to myself. “So, where do you think we’re going so fast?” Mrs. Gill asks icily and slowly. She looks at me with a very dirty and sly gaze. Her eyes are like hawk eyes, as if I am her prey and she could strike at any moment. Additionally, she licks her lips with pleasure. It almost makes me gag. That is how disgusting I find that woman. Not just the physical gestures she makes toward me, but especially the way she makes me feel. She simply enjoys, to the point of exhaustion, having complete power over me and my mother, purely because we happen to be poor and have nowhere else to go. “I-I uh was planning to go home. To my mother and uh help her clean the house,” I stammer. Yes, what else can I say?! “A house doesn’t clean itself, you know,” I quickly add to make it sound a bit lighter. But Mrs. Gill doesn’t give up so easily and seizes every opportunity she gets to drive me as crazy as possible. “What about the rent? You’re over a month behind! That’s not very nice, is it?” Mrs. Gill says slowly. She keeps staring at me coldly, but I can see in her eyes that she is enjoying every second of this. Her eyes are smiling. Yes, those kinds of things always strike me immediately. I am very good at seeing right through people and reading their body language. A short, painful silence falls, during which I try with all my might to come up with a good answer to her threatening attitude.