I got home from my first day at work, and I couldn’t even finish my shift… It was my trial day, so I’ve probably already lost the job.

I left full of stress, trembling, still very anxious and fearful. I sat on the bus, and a guy in the back seat started stroking my hair. I was brutally uncomfortable and changed seats. I told myself it was just my imagination, paranoia.

I arrive at the restaurant, I’m warmly welcomed, but they don’t have a uniform in my size, so I’ll have to wear an extra-large shirt for now. Okay, no problem, it looks like I’m dressed in a garbage bag, but who cares? Everyone treats me well and the chef gives me orders using the correct pronouns, so… So what?

A random security guard, a guy who patrols the street and is a kind of gunslinger (those kinds of things exist here), walks into the kitchen to talk to the chef; apparently, they’re friends.

He’s old enough to be my grandfather, he looks at me, smirks, and says, “Who’s the new little princess?” The chef calls his attention to it, but he doesn’t care at all. He looks at me, points to the pistol in its holster and says, “I’m right over there.”

Anxiety hits instantly, I run to the bathroom, vomit. I clean up the vomit, get up, don’t tell anyone. I continue working, sweating profusely, my head completely stuck in the moment, the policeman again… I start fading out. The chrf holds me back and I vomit again. Trembling, sweating cold, head spinning, almost fainting.

The chef send me home, the cashier gives me 120 reais, and I leave in an Uber. I throw up in the Uber… I pay 120 reais as compensation… 0 money made. It’s all my whore face’s fault.