"You're not getting the day off Mel."
"But I really am sick," I whined pitifully in the phone doing the most spectacular impression of coughing up a lung. Truly it was my best performance ever. I totally deserved an Oscar for this.
"Unless I get a doctor's note, I expect you to show up. On time." My boss's geeky voice pissed me off. The little twit.
For the past six months, I've been bored out of my mind behind the counter at the Superpumper Bros. Food and Gas. You think the name of the company is bad, try working there. But, it pays well and I get to keep up on my favorite reading material, National Enquirer, Star, and Globe. Yes, I like to read about Elizabeth Taylor's adopted alien baby, don't judge me.
It's really a cake job; I get all the Diet Coke and Cheetos I can eat. Again, don't judge me. I work my ass off at the gym to be able to scarf down junk food and guzzle barrels of soda. Well...it was a cake job until one of the big bosses brought in their snot nosed brat to manage the place. Brion Badcock, the bane of my existence.
First off, who names their kid Brion? And second, I dare you to say Mr. Badcock and not laugh your ass off. Go ahead...I'll wait. See? You can't do it, can you? Well neither can I, hence why I call him Mr. B, because the little jackanapes demands I address him as my superior.
"If I come into work today, you'll take the chance of infecting every customer I come in contact with. Do you want that on our conscious Mr. B?" I continue flipping through the Macy's sales flyer, mapping out my battle plan.
"I'll take my chances."
"You really want to go down in history as the guy responsible for starting the plague?" I wheezed, adding a bit of phlegm to my next bout of fake coughing.
"Save it Mel, you're not fooling anyone." I could imagine him pushing those thick rimmed coke bottle glasses he wore, up his pimply nose. "Do you realize you have exceeded the amount of allotted sick days already this year?" I heard the rustling of papers and knew he was digging through my employee file, which for only being employed at the Superpumper for six months, was pretty thick. I was as good as sunk. My BOGO shopping spree disappearing faster than the Titanic sank in the North Atlantic.
"I have allergies," I defended and sniffled loudly into the phone.
"You've also attended your grandmother's funeral...five times."
"I come from a large family."
"It says here, that you have no living relatives."
"Well, duh! That's because they all...um...died...um...recently." Okay, so in my over eagerness to become a responsible adult and not get evicted out of my tiny rental house, I might have had a moment of integrity and filled out my application to the Superpumper with complete honesty. You can bet your sweet ass I won't be making that mistake again.
"Come on Brioooooon," I bemoaned.
"No note, no time off," he huffed and I could hear the faint rattle as he shook his inhaler.
"Fine, if I die then it will be on your shoulders!"
I heard the grody sound of him sucking in from his puffer. Yuck! It sounded like a bad obscene phone call. "I'll see you in 30 minutes. Do not be late!"
Drat! I jabbed the disconnect button so hard I heard my knuckle crack. I sighed. I missed the days of being able to slam a phone down in the receiver. When I get to work, I'm walking into Brion's office and smashing the phone into the cradle just for old times' sake, I sniffed in a huff as I lovingly refolded the sales flyer.
Not that he actually had an office. It was more of a broom closet where we stored the extra toilet paper, paper towels and cleaning supplies for the public restrooms. And really? How fitting was that?
When he took over as Duke of Delegation and Decisions for the Superpumper, one of his first royal commands was for us employees, mainly me, to clear out a section of the storage closet so he could fit his monarchical desk in and now his Royal Pain in the Ass rules from his lofty position amongst the Charmin Squeezable Soft.
Looking over at my alarm clock, I decided I had better get a move on or I would have hell to pay from Baron Badcock. Sighing dramatically, I slowly slid off my bed and tromped into my tiny bathroom which was painted a shockingly Pepto Bismol pink and had deep, scarlet red shag carpet. It always smelled vaguely of wet dog and I didn't own a pet.
Hey, it's a rental, so what do I care if whoever decorated it last was as colored blind as Ray Charles? As long as there was hot water and a working toilet, I was happy. I quickly stripped out of my comfy PJ's, started the shower and brushed my teeth. All at the same time, I might add. I was talented like that. Perfection achieved from years of being late.
I grabbed and tugged my masses of unruly curly hair, cussing and struggling with it until I had it somewhat tamed into a messy ponytail which I then wrapped around itself and stuck a couple of ornate chopsticks in to hold it all in place.
Tilting and shaking my head like a Labrador with water in its ear, I tested to make sure the masses stayed in place. Only a few rebellious strands escaped, but for the most part, it remained a lump of messy sophistication. Bastard Brion demanded all female employees keep their hair up. Easy enough for him to say, he was already balding and that goofy combover wasn't fooling anyone.
When I complained, he said it looked more professional and would be safer. He then asked if I needed to be reminded of why it was added to the employee safety handbook, much to the delight of the rest of the staff.
One time you get your hair stuck in the Lotto ticket reader and you are forever labeled, I sighed stepping into the now toasty shower. Lathering up hastily with my favorite Bath and Body Works peppermint fragranced body scrub, I rinsed off quickly and jumped out before I was tempted to crank on some tunes and start singing.
I had a voice which sounded like a scalded cat hanging over a bucket of water, but in the shower, I was the next Beyonce. The acoustics were marvelous. Grumbling about how incredibly unfair life was, I wrapped a towel around myself and headed back into my bedroom to get dressed.
Since my house was built for Thumbelina, my bedroom wasn't more than an oversized closet, but it was cozy and had a humongous walk-in. This was good since I had a bit of a shopping addiction, hence my tiny rental home. It was cheap and affordable; allowing met to fulfill my desire for all things marked half-off.
Walking over to the dresser, the only other piece of furniture that would fit, I opened the top drawer and fished out a set of Victoria's Secret's finest. The purple ensemble made me feel a whole lot better considering what I had to wear over it.
Turning, I glared at the two piles on the floor. One clean, one dirty and all of it Superpumper uniforms. I wouldn't dare infest my closet with such ghastliness and so they were banished to the blue shag carpeting of the floor. Yup, you heard correctly, blue shag. Believe or not, but the whole house had different colored shag carpeting throughout. It's like a unicorn fart...colorful but foul.
Glancing up at the clock, I dove into the pile and dug out a relatively clean shirt and a pair of black shapeless slacks. I held them up between my two fingers and carried them over to my bed as if I was carrying a bag of doggy-doo.
The typical standard uniform button up mocked me. I know Brion picked these out just to torture me. Gagging, I shrugged the damn thing on and quickly buttoned it up. I slipped on the pants I swear were designed for SpongeBob and jammed my feet into a pair of black Crocs. I dashed into the bathroom to apply a little mascara and lip-gloss before I left.
Immediately I was assaulted by the grisly sight of the Superpumper garb. Okay, I know you think I am being overly dramatic, but let me explain something to you; the shirt is bright ass ORANGE. Not a cool color to wear if you are like me, a redhead. Yes, I am a ginger if you hadn't already guessed. I have a huge mane of disorderly red hair which looks like I licked my finger and stuck it in a light socket. And that was on a good day. Think Disney's Brave and you've got a pretty good comparison, but call me Merida and I will claw your eyeballs out.
Now you understand my pain at having to wear this God awful shirt. Not to mention the words Superpumper "Why Not Pump The Best" is scrawled in big bold lettering right across my boob. If the message isn't clear there, you can catch the fun phrase again on my back. I feel like a dirty billboard for a brothel.
Rolling my eyes at Mr. Badcock's excellent marketing skills, I brushed a little lip-gloss on my lips and took a few swipes of mascara across my lashes and instantly sneezed, turning myself into a raccoon. Why is it I never have to sneeze until I put mascara on??
Scrubbing my face clean, I started again and this time managed to succeed in my efforts. No sense in going full glam for a day at work. I blew my reflection a quick kiss and raced off to grab my purse and keys, making it out the door with ten minutes to spare. The way I drove, I'd be there in less than five.
Three and a half hours later, I was sitting on top of my stool manning the silent register, reading a story about a recent Elvis sighting in Biloxi, Mississippi. Apparently, he was sitting at a local gas station eating Popeye's chicken and drinking a Yoohoo.
I took a slurp of my Diet Coke and wondered why I never had that kind of luck. The closest person remotely representing a celebrity who walked through the Superpumper doors was Raymond Lewis and he only did a short stint on Broadway playing a tree...or a rock...or something, before he took a bad fall off the stage during a performance and broke his clavicle in three different places.
Flipping the magazine to the horoscope section, I was rudely interrupted by a customer demanding ten bucks on pump number five. Yeah, yeah...hold your horses. I ring him up and flip the pump on after setting it to the designated amount. Ten bucks, I scoffed resettling myself on my perch. The galls of the man making me get up for a measly two gallons of gas.
Rolling my eyes, I continued on with more important matters, reading my fate for Taurus.
You need a break from the daily grind. Pfftt...they weren't kidding on that, I thought grabbing a handful of Cheetos before continuing. This week is perfect to create a game plan and with a little planning ahead, you may even be able to find a great deal. Oh! My eyebrows shot up. I had a game plan, only Brion ruined it and to think my great deal was out there waiting for me.
Feeling anxious, I read on crunching on a mouthful of crispy cheesiness. You'll be at a loss for words when a stranger goes to great lengths to do something life changing for you. I snorted. I doubted that would happen anytime soon. I was lucky to get a thank you from these people after I bag up their purchases. It's not what you know, it's who you know that will help you get ahead. Well, that's good, because honestly...I didn't know much. I giggled.
Shaking my cup and rattling the ice, I sucked up the last bit of fizzy delight before I finished the final bits of wisdom. An old friend comes to your aid and bails you out of a possible sticky situation. Huh, I wonder which old friend. I secretly hope its Hailey Morris. We went to middle school together and became fast friends after she untangled my hair from the pencil sharpener. I hung out at her house constantly watching movies, eating Ding-Dongs and we learned all about the birds and bees from the magazines hidden under her older brother's bed.
She moved away in middle of our sophomore year of high school. We lost touch, as kids will do. I think the last I heard, she was getting married to a guy who sold snow tires in Minnesota. It would be cool to hook up with her again, I thought while I refocused on my horoscope. Finding common ground with a difficult co-worker is challenging but not impossible. If your request is truly sincere and based in fact, it will make a difference in his or her reactions.
Hmmm....based in fact. I tapped my nails on the Formica. Suddenly, a brilliant idea took hold and I jumped off my stool. Digging through all the pamphlets and manuals under the counter, I finally laid my hands on the Superpumper Blue Bible...the employee handbook. Blowing dust off of it, I started flipping through the laminated pages that I hadn't looked at since the day I got hired, but now were about to become my salvation.
Exactly 23 minutes later, I found it. Keeping my finger locked in-between the pages as a fleshy bookmark, I tucked it under my arm and marched into Brion's Tidy Bowl office.
What has Mel discovered? Will her horoscope come true? Stay tuned for the next installment of FANGED to find out.
Hey everyone! I hope you enjoyed reading this story as much as I have enjoyed writing it. If you liked it please give it a vote and comments are always appreciated. If you don't see any updates here...check out my other two stories Bending Steele or When Roses Collide.