The lunch lady of hollow ridge playthrough

Turn 31 of 32

Ride the bus down to the school and see its a boarding school, get off the bus and head to the kitchen where everyone sees 12 ladies that look the exact same as them working on breakfast. you join the station with 2 other tammy's that werent there at the place before the bus at the fetcher station, you and the other 2 are in charge of getting the food thats needed during meal time for students.

The bus comes down out of the hills and the valley opens up green and neat, and there at the bottom sits the school — low and brick, a clock tower over the front, dormitory wings stretching off both sides, a sign by the drive that reads HOLLOW RIDGE ACADEMY, A BOARDING SCHOOL. 'Here we are, ladies,' the driver says, and the doors fold open at the service entrance, right by the kitchen door, like the whole building was built around this stop.

You step down into the morning and walk in a line of twelve through the propped door, and the kitchen opens up before you — bigger than the mountain one, steam rising, the long serving line laid out, and twelve ladies working it. Twelve ladies exactly like you. Blue dresses, white aprons, grey-white buns under hairnets, cat-eye glasses, yellow gloves, every one of them 5'3" and soft and round, every face the same lined sixty-year-old face, every one of them turning to look as you come in.

'Mornin', hon,' the nearest one says, in your voice, your drawl, and smiles your smile. 'Y'all made good time. Breakfast is near on done.' There is no surprise in the room. The twelve at the line went back to their work like the thirteenth and fourteenth and fifteenth thing expected had arrived, and down the line every one of them lifted a gloved hand and went on cooking.

'Fetchers, over here, hon,' one calls from the walk-in door, and you and the two Tammys who rode beside you move to her like you'd been called your whole life. 'Y'all are fetchers this morning. Whatever the line wants, y'all bring. Eggs, sausage, biscuit dough, juice — when they call, you run it.' And she shows you the walk-in, deep and humming, cases stacked to the ceiling, and the three of you fall to it, hauling tins and trays to the line while the first buses of students can be heard coming up the drive outside.

'Children'll be in soon,' the Tammy at the griddle says, warm as pie. 'Best have her ready, hon.' And you fetch, and the kitchen fills with the smell of breakfast, and it is very good.