This is a story about how an 18-year-old law student with a superiority complex received a crash course in humility, humanity, and the real meaning of “honest work.”
When I was 18, fresh off my first semester of Foundation in Law, I decided to get a part-time job at an R&R. It was supposed to be harmless. Something to kill time and make some pocket money during semester break. But deep down, I also thought I was doing something noble—”humbling” myself, as if working a job like that was somehow beneath me.
Let’s be honest. I had that superiority complex. The kind you don’t even realise you’re carrying until it shows up in your body language. In your tone. In the way you silently judge people behind the counter when your order takes too long. I thought I was too “educated” for this.
In my mind, people who worked in R&Rs were dropouts. Rempits. People who didn’t have choices. Not people like me. I was going to be a lawyer. I had dreams. I had deodorant.
But the universe is always ready to give you a good slap when you need it.
First Day Energy: Delusion in Flats
I showed up on my first day in a crisp t-shirt and flats that screamed more “Zara internship” than “Kak tolong senduk ikan satu” kind of vibes. I looked like someone ready to take orders at a boutique cafe, not someone about to lift trays of kari ikan.
My job? Basic food counter stuff. Take orders. Smile. Wipe tables. Easy, I thought.
By lunch, I was sweating through my tudung, and my feet were begging for mercy. But I still thought, “Ok lah, I can tahan this.”
Then I carried the tray of curry.
The Moment My Ego Slipped—Literally
It was Raya season, so the bosses let us wear our traditional outfits to work. I was helping carry a heavy tray of kari ikan to the front. The kitchen floor was greasy—always is. I took one cautious step, and then the universe said: gotcha!
I slipped. The whole tray flew out of my hands and painted a masterpiece of orange curry across my colleague’s Baju Raya.
I froze. She didn’t. She calmly wiped a fish head off her sleeve, looked me dead in the eye, and said: “Senang kan kerja ni?”
I got schooled, I ate some humble kari ikan that day.
She wasn’t angry at all, of all the things that she meant that time was that she was just stating facts. That cut even deeper.
I wanted to disappear.
But I had no time to feel sorry for myself. The lunch crowd was already forming. There was no dramatic scene. Just, “Ambik mop. Cepat bersihkan.”
And Then I Got a Bone to the Face (Literally)
Later that same shift, I brought food to a customer who looked like he hadn’t smiled since 1993.
“Kenapa tulang je ni? Takde daging langsung. Bayar mahal-mahal!” he yelled.
Before I could even say, “Saya bukan tukang masak,” he threw the tulang kambing at me. It missed my face, but landed near my feet with a loud thunk.
That was the moment I seriously considered quitting. I wanted to go home, cry into my pillow, and tell my parents I wasn’t cut out for this.
But something stopped me.
We’re All Humans After All
I turned around and saw her—the same colleague whose baju I had ruined earlier—clearing a table. She didn’t flinch. Just kept working, steady and quiet, like it was just another part of her shift.
Something shifted in me right then.
All this while, I had been looking at them through the wrong lens. I used to think they were just… stuck. Maybe lacking drive, maybe just getting by. But at that moment, I realised how tired they were. Not tired in a lazy kind of way—tired in the way people are when they’ve been carrying more than they should, for longer than anyone notices.
And still, they show up.
They weren’t trying to make me feel guilty. They didn’t even bring up what happened. But I could feel it—this unspoken truth hanging in the air. That the work they do is tough. That the life they lead doesn’t come with shortcuts. And even though they could’ve resented me for how I came in, clueless and fumbling, they didn’t.
They just wanted me to understand. And I did.
Some of them were raising kids on their own. Some had finished school and never got the chance to go further. Some had better language skills than me, and they ran the show with a kind of quiet confidence I could barely fake.
They weren’t less than me.
They were people who had learned how to survive.
And the one who thought they had nothing to learn? That was me.
And now, here I am—not a lawyer, not anywhere near the career path I thought I was on at 18. Funny how life works. The job I once thought was temporary ended up teaching me the kind of wisdom law school never could.
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Read also: From State Basketball Player to Farmer to Artist: How M’sian Richie Tan Defied a Conventional Career
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