Amelia sighed softly to herself as she walked down the sidewalk. Her mind was racing in a million different directions at once, which was hardly an unusual phenomenon for her. She'd always had a hard time quieting her mind, and today was no different. 

Did I remember to turn off the stove before I left? I hope so. Oh, what am I saying of course I did.

She shook her head softly as she continued to walk.

I did remember to turn in that paper, right? Yeah, yeah I'm pretty sure I did. I hope it turned out okay.

Thought after thought ran through her mind as she turned the corner and saw her destination come into view. Haze, a popular new nightclub that had opened a few months ago. She'd never have believed it was possible, but she was actually looking forward to her shift. She didn't really understand why, but she tended to feel better after work. Something about her job just put her in a good mood afterwards.

That was why she'd taken the job in the first place. Her friend, Molly, had gotten a job at Haze a couple of months prior, and hadn't stopped talking about how much she enjoyed it. She always emphasized to Amelia how relaxing a job it was. Amelia had been pretty skeptical at first. It was a service industry job, after all, and she'd worked enough of those to know that "relaxing" was rarely a word used to describe them. Still, Molly was insistent, and Amelia desperately needed some kind of job, any job. Her scholarship covered classes, but books, housing, and other necessities? Those came out of her own, rapidly shrinking, pockets. Plus, the place paid surprisingly well.

So Amelia had ended up applying for a job there when an opening had appeared, and was hired almost immediately. To her surprise, the job was actually relaxing. Amelia didn't tend to remember much about the shifts, which she thought was odd at first, but she quickly decided that was fine by her. Work seemed to be the only place she could zone out and relax, and that was something she desperately needed.

She shivered slightly as she walked. It wasn't too cold out, but every once in a while, a crisp breeze would blow by and remind her of how little she was actually wearing. The Haze uniform was pretty skimpy; a tight white crop top stopped just below her ribs, purple trim adorning the edges. A black and purple spiral, the nightclub's logo, sat in the center. The black stockings, meanwhile, were a blessing, providing a bit of warmth to her legs, something the uniform's shorts absolutely failed to deliver.

She approached the back of the building, and reached out her hand to push open the door to the employee entrance. She was still worried about that paper for school.

I really hope I did enough research for that paper. Did I-

Then she stepped inside, and the door latched shut behind her, and all of that worry stopped.

The instant she heard the door close behind her, a switch flipped inside of Amelia. Instantly, her mind grew quiet. Every worry, every stray thought and idea she had, vanished in an instant. Her mind, normally so busy and chaotic, went silent and empty. A wide, happy smile spread across her face, her eyes widened and glazed over. Her slouched posture immediately straightened. This was, of course, proper posture for a waitress at Haze. She knew that, or, rather, her programming knew that.

Amelia didn't know much of anything at all right now, as her mind had gone completely empty and vacant. Her thoughts, her feelings, her personality, all vanished into some dark void. She was still there, physically, but Amelia the person had simply stopped, as if her mind was a blackboard that had been wiped clean. Her body began to move, without her input or awareness.

A waitress that looked like Amelia, sounded like Amelia, and answered to the name Amelia, but was decidedly no longer Amelia, quickly walked across the restaurant floor and towards the employee room in the back. She passed many other waitresses on her way. Like her, they all had bright smiles and empty, glassy eyes. She didn't acknowledge them, however, and they didn't acknowledge her. Her eyes stayed fixed straight ahead, as did theirs. They were all perfect waitresses, after all, and perfect waitresses didn't get distracted by something as silly as socializing.

The employee room was empty when Amelia entered it. She didn't consciously register this fact, but this was how it was supposed to be. The employee room was for clocking in and clocking out. Between those two points, any good waitress would be on the floor, working. Amelia approached the work computer and automatically clocked in, her hands moving without any input from her mind, before immediately checking which section of the floor she was to work today. The information registered in some distant, unconscious part of her brain, and immediately Amelia stepped out of the room, back onto the floor, and began to work.

She walked over to a half-wall, one of the dividers that split up the main dining room, and joined the two other waitresses who were already standing there. This was the default position for waitresses. When they weren't serving a table, they were to stand in one of these spots, looking pretty and waiting for a table that needed their assistance. She leaned against it, in a perfectly rehearsed pose; her hips rested against the wall, her hands folded together on top of its surface, and one foot held up on its toes behind the other. She didn't choose this position, of course. The programming embedded deep within her mind fed it to her; this was simply the pose an unoccupied waitress was to take. Her glassy eyes scanned the section, unconsciously waiting for someone to sit at one of her assigned tables. Her bright, cheery smile never wavered. Beside her, the other two waitresses stood in the same pose, leaned against the wall the same way she was, their eyes just as empty, their smiles just as bright, and their minds just as blank.

Eventually, her eyes settled on a young couple, being escorted to one of her assigned tables by one of the clubs hostesses. The second they sat down, her programming kicked in, and she began to move towards them. She walked with the gait appropriate for a waitress, the one written deep into her unconscious mind. Her hips swayed ever so slightly, her hands held out cutely by her side. And of course, her smile never wavered.

"Hi! Welcome to Haze," she said cheerfully as she approached the table. "I'm Amelia, and I'll be your waitress tonight! Can I get you started with any drinks?"

As the couple began to place their order, one of them, a young woman, gave Amelia a curious look.

"Why don't you have a notepad? Do they make you remember all these orders yourself?"

Amelia let out a soft giggle.

"Of course not," she responded. "I just have a good memory, that's all!" She gave a cute little tilt of her head as she responded, and the woman smiled back, her curiosity seemingly satisfied.

Of course, the woman had no idea how correct her initial question had been. The waitresses did work without notepads. They had all been heavily conditioned to be able to perfectly remember the orders of every customer in their section. But the management knew that may seem suspicious, so the waitresses were also programmed with a response to deflect suspicions, should they be asked about it. And so Amelia had given that response, just like every other waitress in the building would. It wasn't a totally foolproof solution, of course. If someone asked enough of the waitresses, they may start to wonder how every employee at Haze was so gifted at memorization. Thankfully, no one had bothered to investigate that deeply.

Amelia sauntered off, flawlessly recounting their order to the kitchen staff, and returning to their table with their drinks, just in time to see another table seated in her section. And so the cycle continued, as Amelia went over to their table to begin serving them as well.

For the next eight hours, Amelia's shift continued in this exact same manner. She took orders, she conversed pleasantly with the customers, and she provided impeccable service. When customers asked questions, she always had a helpful answer ready for them. If they wanted a recommendation, Amelia always knew just the thing. It was her favorite item on the menu, after all. To every customer she interacted with that night, Amelia was the perfect waitress.

What none of the customers knew was that they weren't interacting with Amelia at all. Not really. Sure, they spoke to her, and it was her lips and her voice that responded. But it wasn't her. All her cheerful banter, the cutesy pep in her step as she walked, even the way she held herself as she stood at a table, was nothing more than a preprogrammed response, conditioned deep into a mind that had absolutely no part in anything that was happening.

Unbeknownst to the club's patrons, every waitress (every employee in general, for that matter), was under a deep, total hypnotic control. It was part and parcel for Haze. The first week of employment was orientation, which consisted of intense, rigorous brainwashing, designed to mold their employees into the perfect service workers.

You see, the management of Haze had finally figured out the problem that plagued the service industry. Employees would get stressed out from rude customers, or they might mess up an order, or make any number of other mistakes. The best way to resolve this issue, of course, was to simply remove their minds from the equation altogether. To this end, by the time they had finished orientation, each employee was perfectly programmed and conditioned to handle their specific role.

The programming was designed to kick in the instant they walked in the door to start their shift, bringing their minds to a complete and immediate halt. From there, the programming controlled their every action. Every step a waitress took, every word she spoke, the way she carried herself, was all conditioned into her mind to the point that it was little more than an automatic response. Not a single stray thought, or any thought for that matter, would enter her head for the rest of the shift.

Of course, while every waitress had this programming, they couldn't all be completely identical. That would give away the secret. So part of each waitresses programming was a personality of sorts, which would help dictate her behavior. Some were programmed to be demure, others to be bubbly and outgoing. None of it was real, of course. The personality types simply determined which programmed responses and actions would be undertaken in a given situation. A more accurate term might have been behavioral templates.

Amelia had been programmed as one of the more outgoing waitresses. She walked with a programmed pep in her step, held herself in cutesy, conditioned poses, and spoke in a bright, happy tone of voice. Her pool of preprogrammed responses matched this tone as well.

What's her favorite item on the menu?

"Oh, well I just love the Grand Slam Burger! The crispy fried onions give it such a nice flavor, and it goes so well with a nice cold beer!"

How much longer will the food take?

"It should just be a few more minutes, but let me go check on that for you right away!"

The burger was undercooked?

"Oh my gosh, I am so sorry! Here, let me go and get you another one. And I'll bring you some complimentary cheese fries on the house while you wait!"

The programming ensures perfect service, perfect execution. No more worrying about a shy or rude waitress; every word she'll say on shift is preprogrammed into her. No more worrying about a waitress getting stressed out or angry; she isn't thinking or feeling anything, after all. And no worrying about slow service; she'll instantly snap into action the moment her mind senses a trigger, be it a freshly seated table or a meal ready to be served. On the outside, they're simply excellent waitresses. On the inside, they're little more than glorified input/output machines.

And Amelia was a perfect example of how well the programming worked. She went about her shift with amazing efficiency, offering up flawless service to table after table. And when her shift was over, she went automatically to the employee room, clocked out, walked to the door, and left.

As soon as the door clicked shut behind her, her mind returned to her. Suddenly, the blank, empty void that had consumed her mind was gone. Her thoughts and personality returned to her. She couldn't remember a thing about her shift, but that didn't bother her. She could never remember, but she knew it had gone well. Her shifts always went well; that's what her programming told her, at least. One last safeguard in her programming; after all, a happy, unconcerned employee is far less likely to quit. Amelia started walking back to her apartment, and already, the stress of life was returning to her. She really needed to double check that paper of hers.

She let out a sigh. At least she had another shift tomorrow to look forward to.