Orientation Without a Welcome Kit

Chapter 3

The fluorescent lights of Marigold Grocery Branch 27-B flickered overhead like they were judging her.

Much like the branch manager—Miss Lorelie—with her laminated ID, tight ponytail, and killer kilay that could cut through steel and self-esteem.

She looked at Janica like she was a virus that got past HR screening.

“Solo orientation? Ikaw lang?” Lorelie asked, flipping through the clipboard. "Usually grupo ito, may batch.”

Janica attempted a polite smile. Oh my god, bakit walang HR tea station? Where’s the welcome kit? The merch? The tote bag with onboarding essentials?

She nodded instead. “Yes po. Ako lang.”

Lorelie sighed like the universe owed her an apology. “Sige. Cashiering ka. Sa Kaha 2. Dun ka kay Sir Arman.”

Sir Arman was already standing by the register, arms crossed, eyes narrowed. He looked like he ate applicants for breakfast—and then threw their resumes off a balcony while quoting policy memos.

Early 40s, with neatly combed hair that screamed ‘no-nonsense,’ and a polo tucked too tightly into his slacks.

Mukha siyang propesor sa thesis defense na nagtatapon ng draft sa plant box kapag may maling font.

His eyes scanned Janica like a corrupted Excel file.

The moment Janica touched the keyboard, she felt it.

Impending doom. And carpal tunnel.

She wasn’t even in her best form today—uniform was a mustard yellow polo with “Marigold” embroidery, paired with a denim apron na mukhang pinaglabanan ng mga shift ng taon.

Her hair, usually salon-blowdried to perfection, was forced into a low ponytail with a clip na hiniram pa niya kay Marisol.

Makeup? Just BB cream, brow pencil, cheek tint, and a hint of gloss—pero dahil sa init, parang natunaw na siya sa pressure cooker.

She looked like a sad pageant contestant in a company-sponsored charity drive. But somehow, she still glowed. Like an heiress trapped in an indie film.

“Scan mo to,” utos ni Arman, handing her a can of sardines.

She fumbled. Wrong key. The barcode didn’t beep. Then it beeped twice. Then the screen froze.

“Paano ka natanggap?” bulong ni Arman, not even subtle.

“Wag kang ganyan,” sabi ni Miss Jenny, the supervisor who suddenly appeared with iced coffee and moral support. “Eh maganda kasi. Madali na i-train pag may pleasing personality. Remember, retail business tayo. Ulam at kanin natin ang customer service.”

Janica’s eyebrow twitched. Her soul nearly launched itself to the parking lot.

She snapped, “Maganda nga ako—but I am not boba, okay?! I graduated interior design sa—” she stopped herself.

Girl, remember. Poor ka.

“—sa isang local university sa Baguio,” she finished, smiling with the dead eyes of someone who just Googled “top interior design schools Philippines” an hour before her fake résumé was submitted.

Then she stood straighter, full conyo indignation activated. “Like, excuse me. Hindi naman kasi ako AI, okay? I don’t instantly absorb procedures. I am a human being. May latency ako. Trial-and-error is part of learning. That’s called wisdom.”

Lorelie raised an eyebrow higher than her budget goals. “Oo. May wisdom ka nga sa mali. Pero may presyo kada mali mo.”

“Presyo?” Janica blinked.

“Every mistake? May kaltas.”

“NOOOO. This can’t be happening!” she gasped. Parang teleserye villain na natanggalan ng inheritance.

Her knees buckled. Lolo’s voice echoed in her head. The litany. The corporate Bible.

“Kaya tayo yumaman,” Lolo once declared over duck confit, “ay dahil sa pawis ng empleyado. Wag mong sayangin ang trabaho nila. Bawat sabon na ginagamit mo—kahit yung sabon mong worth $150 dollars na lavender-infused from Italy—galing yan sa sipag ng mga bagger, checker, at janitor. Tandaan mo ’yan, Janica.”

Now she was the bagger. She was a slow learner. And she was getting deducted for every fumble.

Training Tasks for the Day:

Memorize PLU codes for over 100 items, including seven types of saging.

Practice bagging groceries using recycled paper bags without tearing them (tip: breathe less).

Monitor suspicious coupon usage.

Master the art of smiling even if the customer pays in loose change.

Refill ice tubig and restock shelves… during lunch rush.

Janica looked at the barcode scanner like it was a death ray.

At kahit mukhang nagkakagulo siya sa kaha, hindi nakatakas ang kanyang kagandahan sa mata ng mga empleyado.

Ilang beses na siyang tinawag na "Miss Lakambini" ng mga bagger boy na mukhang kakagraduate lang ng senior high, sabay kindat at alok ng tulong kahit wala naman siyang bitbit.

Lakambini? Not familiar. Pang Miss Gay ba 'yon? Mukha ba siyang trans?

“Miss Nicki, gusto mo ako na magbuhat ng emotions mo?” sabi ni Paul, ang kargador na may pa-dimple at pa-sando.

May nag-aabot pa ng iced tubig kahit hindi siya nauutusan.

Masyado siyang lutang sa mga nangyayari. Basta nagpo-pokus siya sa task niya, tapos!

“Dami mo fans, girl,” bulong ni Miss Jenny habang sinusubaybayan ang intercom schedule. “Ikaw lang yata ang trainee na may sariling welcome committee.”

I used to scan QR codes for brunch. Now I'm scanning corned beef at 9:47 a.m. Is this... is this penance?

She let out a shaky sigh and whispered, “Lord, I know you give your toughest battles to your prettiest soldiers. Pero bakit ako? Bakit ganito?”

Lunch bell rang.

Fifteen minutes lang daw. Fifteen. Hindi man lang sapat para mag-retouch ng kilay, let alone process existential dread.

Janica sat at the breakroom with a paper plate in front of her. She blinked. Then blinked again. “Siomai. At munggo,” she muttered.

Elsie, still in her customer service vest, plopped beside her with a smile. “Swerte mo nga today, may libreng lunch si Marigold. Dapat magpasalamat.”

Janica’s soul died a little. “Should I? This siomai has at least 300 mg of sodium. Each. Four pieces. That’s... 1,200 mg. Not including the soy sauce. Do you want me to swell, Elsie?!”

“Eh di munggo na lang, oh. Gulay ‘yan. Less sodium. Promise.”

“My god,” Janica whispered, eyes welling up. She took one reluctant bite. Parang sinakal siya ng guilt, munggo, at repressed elitismo.

Never in my life have I eaten food this... pesante. Even my maids would side-eye this munggo. I’m not being mean, I’m just—I'm built differently. My gut flora is used to truffle oil and macrobiotic bowls, not whatever this oily sadness is.

She chewed like it was a dare. Swallowed like it was a betrayal. This is not a meal. This is an attack on my palate.

Gina passed by and handed her a cold bottled water. “Iyo na, Nicki. Pwede naman ako uminom sa dispenser.”

She blinked again. Almost cried. “Thank you,” she croaked like a dethroned beauty queen.

To an outsider, Janica probably looked like she was contemplating the deep meaning of munggo, but in truth, she was mid-conyo existential spiral.

This—this—was so not part of her core memory forecast. Munggo and siomai, fluorescent pantry lighting, and people who—let’s face it—probably didn’t even know what gluten-free meant? And yet they were kind. Thoughtful. Not even trying.

No pasiklab. No card limit. Not a curated IG grid in sight. Just… care. Genuine, soft, unfashionable kindness.

And Janica? She was not okay. She was one minor act of compassion away from full-blown mascara-streaked meltdown.

If she weren’t already mid-breakdown—and let’s be honest, she absolutely was—she might’ve actually cried sa kabutihan.

Or maybe, this was it.

The luha Kris Aquino warned the nation about.

Around her, everyone seemed... okay. Laughing even. Gina was teasing one of the stock boys. Elsie was humming a song while folding a paper napkin into a flower. Marisol was laughing at a meme someone showed her on a cracked phone screen.

They looked happy over the smallest things—cold water, a clean table, an extra kikiam sa sabaw ng munggo.

Meanwhile, Janica sat in the middle of it like a telenovela extra, mourning her former life and last night’s catastrophic news.

This is like being reincarnated into a teleserye I didn’t audition for.

Then she remembered last night’s call.

Flashback: Telepono of Doom

“Ma, bakit binawasan ‘yung laman ng e-wallet ko?!”

“Because,” her mom replied, in that soft-but-deadly tone. “Kada isang daang libo mong inutang kay Camille, one month ang kapalit.”

“Ha?! So dahil 300k ‘yun, three months ang dagdag?!”

“Yes.”

“But the money is gone! Kinuha niyo na!”

“And yet may penalty ka pa rin. If you don’t agree, we’ll extend you another three months.”

“Ano ‘to, emotional pyramid scheme?!”

“Nagtataka ka pa? Eh nagsumbong ang tatay ni Camille. Yung VP ng Marigold.”

“WHAT?!”

Internally, Janica wanted to launch her phone across the room like a flaming clutch bag.

Of course it was Tito Benedict. That balding snake in pastel Lacoste.

Kung makasumbong kay Angkong, kala mo siya ang legit na anak.

Just because he’s a VP doesn’t mean he gets inheritance perks! Like, chill sir—hindi ka priority in the will, okay?

“Oo. Kala mo kung sino, kung makasumbong kay Angkong parang siya ang pamamanahan. Eh alam mo naman, Ninong nila si Angkong sa kasal. At isa pa, ayaw ni Papa mo mapahiya ‘yung branch dahil sayo.”

That night, she tantrum’d with full Atenean flavor. “Hindi ako criminal, Ma! I’m just—hindi pa ready maging mahirap!”

Present Day: Munggo Misery

Elsie leaned over. “Okay ka lang, Nicki? Ang pula ng mata mo kagabi. Tsaka parang iyak-iyakan ang ilong mo. Ganda pa naman ng nose mo. Parang kay Julia Roberts.”

Janica straightened. “Wala ‘to. Kailangan ko lang mag-remit kay Mama. Kasi... ako ‘yung breadwinner.”

“Awww,” Elsie said, clearly touched.

Gina nodded. “Di lang ikaw, sis. Ako, nagsusustento ng tatlong kapatid—yung bunso, naka pacemaker. Si Marisol, nagpapaaral ng dalawang college students kasi na-stroke ang tatay nila.”

Janica’s reaction was immediate—eyes wide, fork frozen mid-air, mouth slightly parted in disbelief.

In her head, she was calculating: pacemaker = serious; college students = gastos; stroke = hospital bills = nightmare. And here she was, having a mental breakdown over munggo and soy sauce.

Grabe. Ang drama ko pala kanina. May siomai lang na over-salted, feeling ko end of days na. Tapos sila, literal family emergency everyday.

“Tapos ako,” said Elsie. “Med student ang kapatid ko. Tapos diabetic pa si Mama. Ako rin halos gumagastos sa gamot.”

Janica squinted. “Med student? As in, nagdo-doktor? Mahal yun, ah.”

“Scholar siya,” sagot ni Elsie. “Pero kahit scholar, hindi lahat covered. Yung iba—books, clinical fees, pang-commute—kami na rin. Ako na rin minsan nagpapabaon. Dami ko na ngang cash advance kaya di ako mailipat ng branch.”

Janica blinked. Her drama, her siomai sodium panic, her e-wallet rage... all felt embarrassingly sparkly.

Oh my god. I’m a First World martyr in a Third World sitcom.

She thought of her brother Emman—sweet, autistic, healthy, joyful Emman. Hindi man siya perfect na ate, healthy si Emman dahil may budget sila. Napaisip siya.

Kung ako’y mas naging present sa buhay niya kaysa sa pag-go Gossip Girl sa BGC... baka natuwa pa si Angkong. Maybe he would have spared me this exile.

She wiped her lips with a tissue like she was at a funeral. Rest in peace, dignity.

Lunch was over. Her munggo was barely touched. Maybe later she’d eat oats. Tipid mode. Keri kaya ng three thousand pesos ang dalawang linggo?

OH. MY. GOD. That’s pang-tip ko lang sa bellboy sa Maldives!

Still stunned, she entered the staff hallway. Only to freeze.

In front of her: PDA. A tall, guwapo man (with jawline sharp enough to open a can) was gently brushing the hair from the face of one of the siomai stand girls—Isabel, if she remembered right. Maganda rin, mukhang Latina. Kaya madalas puntahan ng mga kargador na feeling Alden Richards.

Then the guy leaned in, kissed the girl’s forehead.

“I got you,” he whispered.

Janica gasped. Loudly.

“OMG. PDA?! During working hours?! Are we just letting standards die here?!”

The staff room, where they usually took their breaks, wasn’t much better than the pantry—it had a dusty industrial fan, a corkboard with faded memos, and a row of dented lockers na parang hand-me-downs from a 90s public school.

Isang upuan lang ang may foam, at ito’y basag pa. Janica refused to sit and opted to lean, like a distressed socialite in exile.

She gritted her teeth.

Ito ang tinitipid ng board para sa mga luhong Japan at U.S. trips nila. Yung mga so-called board meetings-slash-luxury shopping galas na may pa-five-star hotel, buffet access, and syempre may spa treatment on the side.

Tapos ang mga rank-and-file employees? Tubig lang ang prebilihiyo sa pantry. As in literal water level. Nakakahiya, diba?

If I ever survive this social nightmare, first order of fabulous business is a pantry overhaul—aircon that doesn’t sound like a dying goat, mood lighting, decent seats, and unlimited drinks.

Kahit 3-in-1 coffee, juice, or Ready To Made sandwiches and cup noodles. The kind na may dignity.

The grocery cashier area, on the other hand, was a slightly brighter shade of misery. The floors were clean, thanks to Lex’s obsessive mopping, but the counters were cramped.

At dun pa talaga siya na-assign—right beside the siomai stand. Steam rising, amoy garlic oil, and laminated menu boards with Comic Sans font.

Literal assault sa aesthetics niya.

After their barely edible lunch sa pantry—which, to be clear, looked more like a utility closet na may mesa at mismatched plastic chairs—the staff filtered out one by one.

Some returned to restock. Others lingered. And then there was Janica, still sulking in her seat like she was waiting for a five-star meal to materialize from her paper plate.

Eventually, someone mentioned that the hallway by the siomai stand had better signal. With five minutes left before balik-kaha, nagsama-sama sila doon—part tsismis, part digesting the horror of munggo.

Janica stomped down the hallway in her designer flats na halatang once-glorious, now tragically scuffed—souvenirs of exile.

Her whole aura screamed, “Do not approach unless you're bringing 300k or emotional support truffle oil.”

And yet, fate—cruel, chismosa fate—delivered a visual ambush.

There. By the siomai stand.

It was her first time seeing him—at least up close. She vaguely remembered spotting him on her first day sa grocery, standing near the CCTV monitor like a background character from a low-budget action film.

But today, he stepped into full HD. His name? She heard it from Marisol two days ago during tsismisan. "Si Lex yan, ‘yung taga-security na minsan janitor din. Crush naming lahat ‘yan. Kita mo naman parang galing sa multiverse. Masyadong guwapo. May pagka-clean freak pero hindi suplado. May color coding ang trash bin—OC raw."

Lex Martel.

Tall. Built like a myth. Guwapo to the point of disrespect. Imagine Henry Cavill but wearing a security uniform, with matching janitor mop at the side, as if the gods were on a budget.

His skin was sun-kissed, his arms veiny, and yes, he walked like may sariling soundtrack—probably Red Hot Chili Peppers.

He leaned forward and gently brushed the bangs off Isabel’s face.

Isabel. The barely 20-year-old siomai girl with a pretty face (na masyadong nene), waistline, and the nerve.

Then Lex tapped her cheek.

Janica audibly gasped. “OMG. THAT. IS. GROOMING.”

“Hoy, mukhang bata lang pero legal age na si Isabel ah!” sulsol ni Gina from behind the stockroom divider, munching on crackers like it was popcorn.

“Pero may mas legal pa!” Janica countered, eyes wide in righteous fury. “Like me! Like you, guys! Come on!”

Kumambyo siya para di mahalata. Tutal tingin naman niya di lang siya ang attracted sa guwapong poor na 'yon. Laman ng tsismisan ng staff ang hombre.

Hindi pa niya nakikita simula kahapon, ngayon lang. Pero totoo nga palang Superman levels ang kaguwapuhan no'n.

Marisol peeked from the next aisle. “Ay grabe, competition ba ‘to ng mga legal?”

Elsie giggled from customer service. “In fairness, bagay kayo. Mukha siyang Superman tapos ikaw si Lana. Mas maganda pa nga si Lana sa comics kaysa kay Lois. Si Lana kasi campus sweetheart. Si Lois? Medyo... dork na news reporter.”

Janica rolled her eyes so hard it should’ve counted as exercise.

“Ay excuse me ha? Hindi ako bagay sa mga... janitorial love stories,” she huffed, horrified at the mere suggestion.

Her mouth was halfway through a matapobre rant—something about bloodlines and Forbes Park real estate—when she caught herself.

Oops. Poor ka nga pala in this timeline, girl. Chill.

So instead, she cleared her throat and said through clenched teeth, “Turn off naman ‘yung mga gumu-groom kahit guwapo. Even if... yeah, fine, parang si Superman.”\

She was twenty-three. An heiress—ex-heiress—but still, quality. Not someone you kiss beside laminated fishball menus.

In her head, she was dating a nepo baby. Someone who lived in Forbes, maybe ran a start-up.

Not this Clark Kent janitor-core fantasy with a mop and alcohol spray holstered like a weapon.

Lex looked up—deadpan, unreadable—parang sumulpot na lang sa eksena out of nowhere. She didn’t even hear him coming. One second she was fuming, next second may Superman clone na nakatayo sa harap niya.

“May problema ka ba, Ma’am?” he asked, as if hindi niya narinig ang buong OOOHHH chorus two seconds ago.

They still had five minutes left before balik-kaha. Unfortunately for Janica, five minutes was more than enough to ruin a blowout—or ignite a war.

Janica straightened, tilting her head with manufactured innocence. “No. I just didn’t realize PDA was part of the siomai service... uh, what’s your name again? Lester? Luigi?”

Lex arched a brow. “Lex.”

“Oh right,” she said with a faux-snap of her fingers. “Lex. Like... detergent. Pang-laundry, pang-hugas, pang-linis kalat.”

She tilted her head, lips pursed. “Or wait... is it short for ‘Lexpectation vs reality?’ Kasi honey, mukhang heartbreak with muscles ang peg mo.”

The staff behind them all went “OOOOHHHHHHHH.”

Isabel turned beet red and disappeared behind her steamer.

Nicki mentally scoffed.

Palibhasa bata pa, kaya nauuto. Sayang, maganda pa naman. Pero kung sa security officer-slash-general services lang rin mapupunta... tragic, sis.

Kung kapatid ko ‘to, nahampas ko na ng Birkin kong limited edition para lang matauhan.

Hindi lahat ng guwapo, dapat siniseryoso. Beauty fades, pero the trauma of dating someone who wipes spills for a living—lifetime ‘yan.

And hello? May sikmura ang nilalang. Hindi pwedeng kilig lang ang ulam!

Lex smirked. “Noted. Next time, lalayo kami ng konti.”

More OOOHHHHHHH.

Pasimpleng sumulpot si Thor (short for Victor), isang bagger boy na may baby bangs at laging amoy fabric conditioner. "Uy, Ma'am Nicki, ganyan po talaga si Sir Lex—laging one liner. Pero mahilig sa tulad mo si Sir. Iyong mukhang diwata."

“Thor, hindi ako interesado sa mga lalaking may side hustle sa mop,” she replied, flipping her hair na parang may wind machine.

But inside, her pride was dangerously close to cracking like cheap pressed powder.

Lex, who apparently never left and was standing there the whole time like a sexy ghost of HR violations, calmly added, “Don’t worry, Ma’am. Hindi ko type ang entitled.”

Cue third round of OOOHHHHHHH from the staff. Even the siomai steamer hissed in support.

Janica bristled. Grabe, he’s really feeling guwapo, no? As in kung maka-smirk, parang campaign poster para sa barangay elections.

Her nostrils flared slightly—an elite-level response. Yes, guwapo siya. Pero guwapo doesn’t excuse arrogance. Or forehead kisses. Or having biceps that distract the proletariat.

Janica spun on her heel, muttering loud enough for the floor wax to hear, “This isn’t over. And FYI, I don’t do mop soap operas.”

She paused dramatically in the hallway and glanced up at the CCTV camera—full irap, chin lifted, as if challenging the entire surveillance system.

Meanwhile, somewhere behind the monitor, Lex watched her stomp off in all her conyo glory—half amused, half impressed.

Welcome to Zambales, Conyo Queen. Game ka na ba?