CHAPTER TWO – RESEARCH IDEA

"While your idea sounds nice in theory," Lisa began, her tone condescending, "isn't it a bit... simplistic? I mean, how do you expect to solve complex urban problems with a few trees and benches?" Joan took a deep breath before responding. "I appreciate your question, Lisa. My proposal isn't about 'a few trees and benches.' It's about reimagining urban spaces to prioritize human well-being. The research shows that even small green areas can have a significant positive impact on mental health, social cohesion, and environmental quality. It's not a silver bullet, but it's a cost-effective approach that addresses multiple issues simultaneously." Professor Daniels nodded. "Excellent response, Ms. Keppler. This kind of debate is exactly what we need in urban planning. Now, let's move on to our next presenter." As Joan returned to her seat, she caught Lisa glaring at her. She managed a small smile in return, feeling a mix of pride and relief. The rest of the seminar passed in a blur of presentations and discussions. When it finally ended, Joan checked her watch and groaned. She had barely an hour before her shift at Miles Pizza started. She rushed across campus, her mind still buzzing with urban planning concepts as she changed into her work uniform in a bathroom stall. The pizza shop was already busy when she arrived, the smell of melting cheese and tomato sauce filling the air. "There you are, Joan!" her manager, Mike, called out as she tied on her apron. "We're swamped. Can you handle the front while I finish these orders?" "Sure thing, Mike," Joan replied, plastering on her customer service smile as she approached the counter. For the next few hours, Joan was in constant motion – taking orders, handling payments, and dealing with a steady stream of customers. Just as the dinner rush was starting to die down, a man in a business suit approached the counter, his face set in a scowl. "Excuse me," he said, his voice sharp. "I ordered a large pepperoni pizza over an hour ago for delivery. Where is it?" Joan quickly checked the order system on the computer. "I'm sorry, sir, but I don't see any outstanding delivery orders for pepperoni. Are you sure you ordered from this location?" The man's face reddened. "Of course I'm sure! I come here all the time. Are you calling me a liar?" "Not at all, sir," Joan said, trying to keep her voice calm. "I'm just trying to figure out what happened. Can you tell me the name and phone number you used for the order?" "This is ridiculous," the man snapped. "I shouldn't have to prove I ordered a pizza. I want to speak to a manager!" Joan took a deep breath. "I understand you're frustrated, sir. I'll get the manager for you right away. Could you please step to the side so I can help the next customer while you wait?" The man's voice rose. "No, I will not step aside! I've been waiting for my dinner for over an hour, and I demand service now!" Other customers were starting to stare. Joan felt her patience wearing thin, but she maintained her professional demeanor. "Sir, I apologize for the inconvenience, but yelling won't solve the problem. I'm doing my best to help you. If you could just give me a moment—" "Your best?" the man interrupted. "Your best is pretty pathetic if you can't even handle a simple pizza order!" That was the last straw. Joan's professional mask slipped. "Look," she said, her voice low and intense, "I've been on my feet for hours, dealing with dozens of orders without a single mistake. I'm trying to help you, but you're not giving me anything to work with. No name, no phone number, no proof of order. For all I know, you could have ordered from the pizza place down the street and walked in here by mistake. So unless you can give me some actual information, there's nothing more I can do for you." The man's mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water. Before he could respond, Mike appeared at Joan's side. "Is there a problem here?" he asked, looking between Joan and the irate customer. The man turned his anger on Mike. "Yes, there's a problem! Your employee here is incompetent and rude. I want my pizza, and I want it for free for all this trouble!" Mike held up his hands in a placating gesture. "Sir, let's step over here and sort this out. Joan, why don't you take your break now?" Joan nodded stiffly and retreated to the back room, her hands shaking with a mix of anger and frustration. She slumped onto a stack of empty boxes, fighting back tears of exhaustion. A few minutes later, Mike joined her. His expression was a mixture of sympathy and disappointment. "Joan," he began, "I know that customer was difficult, but you can't lose your cool like that. It's bad for business." Joan nodded, staring at the floor. "I know. I'm sorry, Mike. It won't happen again." Mike sighed. "I'm going to have to write you up for this. But look, I know you're a good worker. Just... try to keep it together, okay? Even when the customers are being unreasonable." "I understand," Joan said quietly. "Thanks, Mike." The rest of her shift passed without incident, but Joan couldn't shake the feeling of defeat. As she locked up the shop and began her walk home, she felt utterly drained. The house was quiet when she arrived. She found her father and Tommy in the kitchen, a plate of food waiting for her in the microwave. "Hey, sweetheart," her father said, looking up from his crossword puzzle. "How was your day?" Joan managed a weak smile as she sat down with her reheated dinner. "It was... a day." Tommy peered at her over his textbook. "That bad, huh?" Joan took a bite of her food, savoring the taste of her father's home cooking. "Well, I nearly missed the bus, barely made it to my seminar on time, got into an argument with Lisa—" "Again?" Tommy interjected. Joan rolled her eyes. "Yes, again. Then I had to rush to work, where I got yelled at by a customer and written up by Mike." Her father reached across the table and squeezed her hand. "I'm sorry, honey. That sounds like a rough day." "Yeah," Joan sighed. "But you know what? My presentation went really well. Professor Daniels seemed impressed." Tommy grinned. "That's my big sister! Knocking 'em dead with her big brain." Joan couldn't help but laugh. "Thanks, squirt." Her father leaned back in his chair, a proud smile on his face. "You know, Joan, days like this are tough. But they're also what make you stronger. You're juggling so much – your studies, your job, helping around the house. I couldn't be prouder of you." Joan felt a lump form in her throat. "Thanks, Dad. I couldn't do it without you guys." "Of course you could," Tommy piped up. "But it's more fun with us around, right?" Joan reached over and ruffled his hair. "Right you are, little brother." As she finished her meal, surrounded by the warmth of her family, Joan felt the stress of the day begin to melt away. Tomorrow would be another challenge, but for now, she was content. She had made it through another day, and she knew that no matter what came next, she had the strength – and the support – to face it head-on.