Crap. “No, I swear I’ll show up early from now on. I need this job, Dick. Richard, I mean. Richard.” Come on, don’t be a dick for once. Please.
“A management position recently became available in our Blytheville location in South Carolina. They have been interviewing candidates, but as of yesterday, they decided to hire from within the corporation. Seeing as some people think you have a good work ethic and have been promoted several times for this supposed work ethic, management, who overlooks your time sheets, thinks you would be a good fit for this position.”
“Blytheville?” I’ve never even heard of the place.
“Yes, it’s a small town. The hotel is small as well—more of a bed and breakfast setup with hotel accommodations. It’s one of our first hybrids, as a matter of fact.”
I kind of want to start laughing now because there’s no way he’s serious.
“Di—Richard, you know I’ve lived in Boston my entire life, right? I can’t just pick up and move.” That’s unfathomable.
“Okay, that’s your choice. Unfortunately, though, a decision has been made about your state of employment here—by me, because I have that authority.”
He pauses, and I pause, almost as if we’re playing a head game of chicken. I stare into his menacing, downcast eyes. I should say something, but I’m not leaving Boston. Instead, my gaze falls to his small beer gut, and my thoughts wander as I try to figure out how a tall, thin man can have a beer gut like that. Wouldn’t the fat content just redistribute through the rest of his body?
“What’s the decision?” I ask without looking back up into his cold stare.
“Either you go to Blytheville to run the front desk, or we’re going to have to let you go. I will warn you, though, since we offered you an equally transitional opportunity, you will not be qualified for unemployment benefits if you opt out of the transfer.”
Shit. That was my only fallback plan.No money means no apartment.
No apartment means I go home to Mom and Dad’s. Doing that means I’ll be under Dad’s control again. It’ll be like going back eleven years into teenage-hood. No way.
“Can you just give me another chance here? I love this location. I’m happy here. I know the guests, and—”
“I’m sorry, Scarlett. The decision has already been made. Grab your belongings. Security will see you out.”
He’s completely serious. I’ve been working here for five years, and they’re just going to throw me out on my ass for being a few minutes late sometimes? It’s Boston. What do they expect? Everyone has a place to be at the same exact time, and transportation isn’t trustworthy.
Fine. Whatever. There are hundreds of hotels in this city. I’m sure I can find one that’s hiring.
Larry, the security guard, shuffles toward me with his half-lidded eyes. He’s a scrawny old guy who can’t hear a thing. I’m not sure he’d do much if something went down in this place, but he’s been here for longer than I’ve been alive, or so I’ve been told, so he gets to keep his job. Not me, though. Nope.
Larry slowly glances over at me and shrugs. “Ready?”
I grunt and storm into the back room to grab my things. It doesn’t take me long since I usually take out what I bring in each day, never trusting anyone around here enough to leave anything behind.
Larry follows me to the front doors and leans in front of me to push the door open. “Good luck, Shirley,” he says.
“What? My name is Scar—” The door is closed. Shirley? Five years and he didn’t know my real name? I must have left quite an impression on everyone here.
Your loss, bastards.You’ll realize what a mistake it was to let me go when you discover it was me who was keeping this place running.
I request an Uber car because I don’t feel like taking the bus home—to the apartment I will no longer be living in if I don’t find a new job this week. Thankfully, an available car is just around the corner, so I don’t have to sit out here like the giant loser I feel like at the moment.
The silver sedan pulls up and the driver leans down to look out the window, pointing at the back seat. It’s sign language for “Did you order this Uber?” Opening the door is my Uber answer. I slide in onto the torn leather seat with fluffed foam poking out. This guy probably makes more in a day driving this car then I do in a week at the hotel, and he doesn’t get in trouble for having a torn seat, but I get in trouble for being five minutes late.
The driver pulls up in front of my apartment, and I hand him cash. “You have a hole in your back seat,” I tell him. “Just letting you know.”
The guy stares at me without an ounce of care. Some days, this city makes me realize why I’m so bitter. Everyone is either bitter or over-the-top happy with their running gear and super fit bodies. I don’t think there is an in-between, gray area, so I have to fit into one category, it isn’t the runner one.
I huff up the stairs and push the door open, finding Brendan in the same place I left him. “Are you still meditating?”
He doesn’t seem surprised or startled that I’m here. He simply closes his magazine and spins around on the bar stool. “Did you get fired?”
“Yes,” I groan. “I was only five—seven minutes late today.”
“Scarlett, I warned you that was going to happen. The hospitality industry isn’t very hospitable to those who can’t be respectful of time.”
