It was Christmas again.
In Australia, Christmas usually meant heat, sunburns, and sand everywhere. Carmen and her friends loved it. The beach. The pool. The wet bar. And the endless stream of cute guys coming into the local café her parents owned.
But Carmen hated Christmas.
Not the season. Not the food. The lunch.
Every year, the whole family crammed around one long table, and without fail, it turned into the same competition. Who had the smartest kid. The most impressive job. The biggest achievement.
Carmen already knew where she sat in that ranking.
She didn’t think of herself as very smart. She had just received an offer to study Arts at Melbourne Uni. It wasn’t medicine. It wasn’t law. It wasn’t something her very loud, very proud extended family would clap for. Even though her parents were genuinely proud, Carmen knew what everyone else would think.
For years, her parents had stayed quiet at Christmas lunch. Their café made good money, but no one bragged about being a café owner. Doctors and lawyers got praise. Shop owners didn’t.
Funny thing was, Carmen wasn’t completely happy with her parents either.
She had watched them work early mornings and late nights. She had seen the stress when staff called in sick. The constant pressure. The exhaustion.
She didn’t want that life.
She wanted better. Whatever that meant.
The problem was, she had no idea what she actually wanted to do. That was why she chose Arts. It gave her space. Time. A way out if she changed her mind.
As Christmas lunch crept closer, her anxiety grew. She could already hear the questions.
“So what are you studying?”
“What are you going to do with that?”
“And after uni?”
To distract herself, Carmen shopped online. Buying things made her feel accomplished, even if only for a moment. She loved luxury items. The reactions from her friends said it all. And her parents let her. It was their way of making up for always being busy.
She usually got whatever she wanted. Expensive or not.
Until one day, she saw it.
A Louis Vuitton bag.
As usual, she asked her mum for extra money.
“No,” her mum said.
Carmen froze.
No one had ever said no before.
It hurt more than she expected. That bag felt like everything. Without it, life suddenly felt boring. Empty.
Her mum stayed calm.
“It’s a busy time,” she explained. “We need stock for Christmas and New Year. Money will be tight for a few weeks. I can give it to you after the rush. Or…” she paused, “…you can help out in the café. I’ll pay you properly. Then you can buy it yourself.”
Carmen hesitated. But she knew the café. She’d grown up in it. With two weeks of wages, she could afford the bag.
So she agreed.
The next day, she started like every other employee.
Cleaning the coffee machine. Unloading the dishwasher. Arranging desserts in the display fridge. Learning the register and EFTPOS. At first, she followed instructions. Soon, she didn’t need them.
Her parents were impressed.
She served customers confidently. No awkwardness. No hesitation. Better than some of the new casuals.
Then she discovered the worst part of the job.
You never sit down.
There was always something to do. Orders. Cleaning tables. Wiping benches. Loading dishes. Unloading dishes. Again. And again.
By the end of the day, she was exhausted. Her legs throbbed. Her hands were dry and sore. Her head ached. And the worst thought of all hit her.
She had to do it again tomorrow.
That night, her mum called her for dinner. Carmen dragged herself out of bed and shuffled into the kitchen.
A full meal was waiting.
“How do you do this?” Carmen asked, genuinely shocked.
“Like I always do,” her mum said, smiling.
The food was amazing. And for the first time, Carmen truly understood what her parents did every single day.
She was about to say she couldn’t do another shift. But then her parents started praising her.
Their eyes were bright. Their voices full of pride.
“Thank you, Carmen,” her mum said, lifting her glass of orange juice. “We couldn’t have handled today without you.”
Her dad raised his beer.
“You were efficient. Great with customers. Some regulars even commented on how good you were. We’re really proud of you.”
Carmen’s face burned.
Her effort had been noticed.
And suddenly, it felt impossible to quit.
The next day came too fast. She woke up at 6 a.m. to collect stock with her parents. Day two was easier. Day three even easier. By the end of the week, customers greeted her by name.
“Carmy,” they called her.
Her first pay surprised her. The money appeared in her bank account before she even realised payroll had been done. Her payslip arrived by email. There was even a small bonus.
Her mum winked at her.
That night, Carmen sat down to understand her payslip. The tax shocked her.
“They took that much?” she asked.
Her mum explained tax returns and financial years. Then came another surprise.
Superannuation.
“And I can’t use it until I’m old?” Carmen yelled.
Her mum laughed and explained how super worked. Saving for the future. Compound interest. Independence.
That night, Carmen opened her first super account.
For the first time, she felt grown up.
She used her wages and bonus to buy the LV bag. It felt different this time. Better.
“I earned this,” she told herself.
At Christmas lunch, her parents spoke proudly and loudly. About how Carmen saved the Christmas rush. About how capable she was.
They didn’t see a girl anymore.
They saw someone who could stand on her own feet.
And Carmen realised something too.
If she could handle customers, she could handle whatever came next.
