Fated Disaster

Jordan Parker

Clumsy.

Absent-minded.

Hopelessly uncoordinated.

Or maybe... cursed.

Or maybe it's just... me. Jordan Parker.

My dad says I have a magnet for bad luck because I always walk around with my head in the clouds. And, well, today I can't argue. He was right - though I refuse to let him tease me about it over the phone.

I'm at the airport. On time. Ready to board the flight to the internship of my dreams. No delays, no running around. Everything going smoothly - which, let's be honest, should've been my first red flag.

The problem? I arrived 24 hours early. Yep, a whole day before the actual flight. Who messes up the travel date? Me, of course.

I was so proud of myself for packing early, arriving calmly... So confident that I didn't even think to double-check the ticket date. Idiot. And now what? Call my dad to come pick me up, so he can laugh until he wheezes? Not a chance.

So I decided to improvise. "Think positive, Jordan," I told myself, while searching for a nearby hotel. Fifteen minutes on foot, the map said. I figured it was a good idea to walk, stretch my legs, enjoy the fresh air... And it was a good idea... until one of the suitcase wheels broke halfway there.

"Shit," I muttered. And as if that weren't enough, I gave it an impulsive kick - which broke it even more. "Brilliant, Jordan. Very classy."

I dragged the suitcase the rest of the way, sometimes carrying it like a giant hard-plastic baby, other times angling it weirdly, trying to use the wheels that still worked. Mentally cursing the entire time, of course. What was supposed to be a short stroll turned into a miserable pilgrimage.

The room I managed to book was tiny, but cozy. A simple bed, warm yellow lighting... It even had some charm. Too bad it cost more than it should have. My budget was already on life support and this improvised stay just pulled the plug. But alright, Jordan. Breathe.

What brought me here, after all? I won a contest! Yes, me - the girl who breaks luggage with her feet - won the chance to intern at Chef Adam Black's restaurant. The man, the myth, the legend... and, they say, an ogre in an apron.

A chance to prove I can do this. That I can be more than just Clumsy Jordan. That I can, with lots of effort, become a chef.

Of course, my brain immediately kicked into sabotage mode. What if I mess everything up? What if he fires me on the first day because... well, because I'm me - a two-legged disaster.

After a depressing fast-food meal (because obviously the hotel's "gourmet" restaurant was reserved for people with money), I returned to the room to relax. But the TV wouldn't turn on, the remote was dead, and I think the manual button didn't even exist. I gave up.

I lay down. The mattress was a mix of cement and sand. The pillow felt like it was stuffed with old sponge. The only thing working was the sound of car alarms outside.

Still, I went to sleep with a stupid smile on my face. Because, in the middle of all this mess... I was heading for a new life.

Will I survive this experience? Will Chef Black think I'm completely useless?

Or worse... what if he's right?

Well, tomorrow is the actual travel day. The official start of my (desperate) attempt to be an adult. Let's see how long the universe lets me pretend I'm competent.

But one thing's for sure: whether it's pots, stumbles, or misunderstandings... this adventure is going to get messy.

________________________________________

I woke up with one of those stomachaches that mix nerves, anxiety, and possibly last night's sketchy food. I could barely look at the hotel breakfast - and yet, I grabbed a mini croissant out of stubbornness. Dry. Obviously.

And because I'm a woman who learns from her mistakes... I decided, once again, to walk to the airport. Yes, with the same broken suitcase. Because saving a few bucks on a taxi makes sense, right? It's not like I'm rolling in cash.