Not wanting to give him a chance towrite me up, I set to work mopping the floor. Instantly, the water has a sheen to it, regardless of how many times I ring out the mop. All I’m doing is smearing the gloopy contents in circles. I can feel myself becoming stinky and hot with this impossible task.
Looking for relief, I hastily pulled my hair back into a ponytail, prior to ringing out the mop again. I startle when I hear the sound of drums, paired with a familiar guitar riff. Of course, this ‘plague of a device’ is playing music again! I know this song.
Thanks to sharing a wall with my brother, I had the pleasure of listening to this song a great deal of times, when he was in high school. He would commonly become obsessed with songs to the point that he would play them over and over. Once everyone became utterly sick of hearing it, he moved onto his next hyper fixation.
“Really?!” I all but whisper yell to no one in particular. “Vasoline?!” I object. “I don’t thinkStone Temple Pilotsmeant it like this?”
I was quite literally squabbling with an empty aisle. As the song plays, I grow more irritated by the second. I drop the handle of the mop, just before peeking down each aisle for anyone who may be watching me. Obviously, my stalker thinks they’re funny. Whoever it is has to be close by!
Turning the corner, I peered around a tower of boxed stuffing. Beyond a customer, Craig catches sight of me.
“Shit. Shit. Shit.”
I scurry back to the mess on aisle nine, hoping he didn’t realize it was me. Unfortunately, as soon as I reach down and pick up the wooden handle, there he is. Red faced and slightly panting. Did he run?
“Are we finished already?” he says between short breaths.
Yes, he definitely ran… or rolled. How is he so quick?
He crosses his arms and pins me with a look.
“That was awfully fast. I thought it would have taken you at least—” He stops mid-sentence, staring at the side of my face like a bug was on it. “Are you listening to music, Miss Mari?”
Oh crap. I was so focused on the mess, then the song played… I didn’t think about covering the earbud with my hair. Before I could even respond, he looks past me, where small puddles of water and shining swirls of Vaseline has only grown in size.
Just like before he shuffles off momentarily, only to return with a yellow caution sign.
“Please follow me to my office.”
Craig pivots and starts toward the backroom.
He didn’t have an office. He was a supervisor at a shitty grocery store! Damnit, I’m going to lose another job. I cross my arms over the top of my apron, hiding the words,Star Crew. I wasn’t in the mood to direct any naive customers to the bread aisle when I was on my way to getting fired.
My balding manager was more round than tall with a superiority complex that caused subordinates to hate him whilecorporate adored the man. Christopher, not quite done with his break, was evicted from the room mid granola bar and ordered to promptly clean up the impossible mess.
“Have a seat, Miss Mari.”
I put myself into the slightly rusted metal chair, just in front of the breakroom’s lunch table, with him on the other side. The plastic table was riddled in mysterious smears of food, while Craig snagged the only semi-comfortable chair in the whole space.
He scoots forward, leaning his upper body onto the table, with thick, meaty forearms. Being this close to him was so much worse than him sitting and grading me on my performance. At least then I had distance.
“How long have you been with us, Miss Mari?” he asks, with all the confidence of a man who already knew the answer. Seeing as he’s the one controlling the questioning, I sense a power trip coming.
“Just Cindel, please.” I find myself unable to look away from his yellow, crooked smile. “I’m not sure. A little under a year?” I force myself to look away, desperate to find anything else in the room to keep my attention. My focus settles on a dollop of dried ketchup, on the edge of the heavily used table.
“Nine months and twenty-one days to be exact.” He rebuts, with his grotesque grin still on display.
Why would he know the exact timeframe down to the day? Did he plan on firing me and look up my hire date?
“Have you read the handbook? The one you signed when you were hired at this establishment?” His fingers barely laced together as he sets them in front of himself. He reminds me of a fat house cat that likes to play with its food but too spent to actually give chase.
“Yeah, I kind of remember signing?—”
He leans forward instantly interjecting, “Section eight, third paragraph. Employees will adhere to rules and regulations put in place by Star Mart, including but not limited to any personal use of electronic devices during working hours.”
What? Who would memorize that? Apparently, this guy. I bet he lives in his mom’s basement. I was very much over this one-sided conversation.
“If you're going to fire me, just do it.”
