ukgam.icu
Hi everyone. My name is Chloe. I'm 30 years old. I live in London, in Brixton. Yes, that same Brixton where Anthony Joshua grew up. You've probably heard about it. Except I don't live in a mansion — I live in a rented flat that I share with my friend. And I don't work as a world champion — I work at McDonald's. Yes, I work at McDonald's. On the till. I smile at people who order Big Macs and fries, and I think about how to make it to the end of the month. Rent — £700 a month. Plus bills. Plus food. My salary is £1,500 a month. With tips — sometimes £1,600. It's enough exactly until the 25th. And then there are five more days — instant noodles and hope. My friend and flatmate, Emma, works at the same McDonald's. We rent this flat together. It's easier with two. But not by much. Three months ago, I took out a loan. £2,500. For a birthday gift for my mum. She needed a new washing machine — the old one broke, and she didn't ask for help. She just said: "Chloe, I'll manage." But I knew she wouldn't. So I took the loan. I bought her the washing machine. I said: "Mum, it's a gift from me." She cried. So did I. Now I pay £180 a month towards it. Plus rent. Plus food. Plus everything else. I have £200 left for the month. For myself. For an occasional proper coffee instead of instant. Sometimes I look at my bank balance and think: "Why did I even do this?" And then I remember my mum's face. And I know exactly why. I'm 30 years old. I don't know what comes next. Working at McDonald's isn't a career. It's survival. Emma says: "Chloe, you need to find something else." And I say: "What? I only know how to smile and count change." And she doesn't answer. --- Last Friday was the drive-thru shift. You know what the drive-thru is like on a Friday night? It's an endless stream of cars, voices in your earpiece, cold wind from the open window, and people who say "hello" with their mouths closed. I was on the till, taking orders, smiling — even though no one could see my smile thr
