That one always made me laugh, but I’m pretty sure some of my clients wouldn’t have shared my amusement.
“And Sierra Vista management has asked me to review storm procedures with you, since we’re hitting tornado season again, and they’re predicting a bad front moving in this weekend.” Everyone groaned. “C’mon, guys, I gotta do this. Cut me some slack.” Kristyn gave a long-suffering sigh, and the rabble quieted.
“In case of a tornado warning, which means that a tornado has actually been sighted on the ground—”
“The exits are hereherehereherehere anywhere!” The kids cracked up as Abe channeled Aladdin’s genie and Kristyn swatted him with her papers.
“Okay fine, smart-ass, you do it.” She shoved the e-mails into his hands.
Abe cleared his throat solemnly and proceeded to read the instructions in what was possibly the worst British accent I have ever heard. “Please direct customers to the designated storm shelter areas, and lock the doors to your businesses. All public restrooms and storage hallways are to be considered storm shelters. Once there—”
“Put your head between your knees and kiss your ass good-bye.” Leanne tossed in her two cents that time, and Kristyn threw up her hands.
“I tried. If you all get blown to Oz, it isn’t my fault.”
The meeting was dismissed to a chorus of “I’ll get you, my pretty!” Poor Kristyn. She’s actually a good manager, but riding herd on that bunch of miscreants was nearly impossible when they were all together. Such were the hazards of a relaxed work environment.
She caught my eye and gave me a tired smile. “You’ll take care of them, old dude, right?”
“I always do.”
For the record, upon my death, I want to be nominated for sainthood. I’m not Catholic. I’m not even sure I’m Christian. But it might do the church a world of good to admit a beer-drinking, brawling, hippie samurai into their ranks. And after I spent the entire afternoon trying to train Paulo on a register, getting no more than a grunt or two from him in response, I damn well deserved some recognition. Thankfully, Kristyn shooed Paulo out the door at six, and after that, my evening was infinitely better.
As Mira predicted, I wound up working past my shift, helping Kristyn and Leanne with the mad clearance rush. Believe it or not, I like my job. I get to listen to all kinds of music, see interesting people, and I don’t have to wear a tie or cut my hair. It’s perfect!
No one blinks if I have to take off with no notice, and I can usually give them at least a day or two. They’re used to my coming back on crutches or otherwise injured, and it’s not really a physically taxing job when I’m limping around. And the kids, bless their little hearts, believe every lie I tell them about what I’ve been doing. Nothing like a bunch of teenagers to swallow your BS story hook, line, and sinker.
And if I am being wholly honest, I don’t do well taking orders from people I don’t respect. That particular tendency of mine tends to limit my long-term employment options. I have an extensive list of “You just didn’t work out” dismissals to prove it, not to mention that a BA in philosophy doesn’t open a lot of doors. Yeah, I had strikes against me from all directions.
On my break, I borrowed the store phone to call and check on my girls. It was a nightly tradition to tell Annabelle good night as Mira tucked her in.
“When are you coming home, Daddy?” I could hear the sleepiness in her little voice. She was fighting to stay awake even now.
My heart always breaks when she says things like that. “You’ll be asleep when I get home, button. Daddy has to work.”
“Can you stay home tomorrow? I miss you.”
“I’ll see what I can do, sweetheart. You go to sleep. Have sweet dreams.” She passed the phone to Mira. “Has she been good tonight?”
“Of course. She helped with the smudging. Then we had a tea party with her stuffed animals.”
I
“And Sierra Vista management has asked me to review storm procedures with you, since we’re hitting tornado season again, and they’re predicting a bad front moving in this weekend.” Everyone groaned. “C’mon, guys, I gotta do this. Cut me some slack.” Kristyn gave a long-suffering sigh, and the rabble quieted.
“In case of a tornado warning, which means that a tornado has actually been sighted on the ground—”
“The exits are hereherehereherehere anywhere!” The kids cracked up as Abe channeled Aladdin’s genie and Kristyn swatted him with her papers.
“Okay fine, smart-ass, you do it.” She shoved the e-mails into his hands.
Abe cleared his throat solemnly and proceeded to read the instructions in what was possibly the worst British accent I have ever heard. “Please direct customers to the designated storm shelter areas, and lock the doors to your businesses. All public restrooms and storage hallways are to be considered storm shelters. Once there—”
“Put your head between your knees and kiss your ass good-bye.” Leanne tossed in her two cents that time, and Kristyn threw up her hands.
“I tried. If you all get blown to Oz, it isn’t my fault.”
The meeting was dismissed to a chorus of “I’ll get you, my pretty!” Poor Kristyn. She’s actually a good manager, but riding herd on that bunch of miscreants was nearly impossible when they were all together. Such were the hazards of a relaxed work environment.
She caught my eye and gave me a tired smile. “You’ll take care of them, old dude, right?”
“I always do.”
For the record, upon my death, I want to be nominated for sainthood. I’m not Catholic. I’m not even sure I’m Christian. But it might do the church a world of good to admit a beer-drinking, brawling, hippie samurai into their ranks. And after I spent the entire afternoon trying to train Paulo on a register, getting no more than a grunt or two from him in response, I damn well deserved some recognition. Thankfully, Kristyn shooed Paulo out the door at six, and after that, my evening was infinitely better.
As Mira predicted, I wound up working past my shift, helping Kristyn and Leanne with the mad clearance rush. Believe it or not, I like my job. I get to listen to all kinds of music, see interesting people, and I don’t have to wear a tie or cut my hair. It’s perfect!
No one blinks if I have to take off with no notice, and I can usually give them at least a day or two. They’re used to my coming back on crutches or otherwise injured, and it’s not really a physically taxing job when I’m limping around. And the kids, bless their little hearts, believe every lie I tell them about what I’ve been doing. Nothing like a bunch of teenagers to swallow your BS story hook, line, and sinker.
And if I am being wholly honest, I don’t do well taking orders from people I don’t respect. That particular tendency of mine tends to limit my long-term employment options. I have an extensive list of “You just didn’t work out” dismissals to prove it, not to mention that a BA in philosophy doesn’t open a lot of doors. Yeah, I had strikes against me from all directions.
On my break, I borrowed the store phone to call and check on my girls. It was a nightly tradition to tell Annabelle good night as Mira tucked her in.
“When are you coming home, Daddy?” I could hear the sleepiness in her little voice. She was fighting to stay awake even now.
My heart always breaks when she says things like that. “You’ll be asleep when I get home, button. Daddy has to work.”
“Can you stay home tomorrow? I miss you.”
“I’ll see what I can do, sweetheart. You go to sleep. Have sweet dreams.” She passed the phone to Mira. “Has she been good tonight?”
“Of course. She helped with the smudging. Then we had a tea party with her stuffed animals.”
I
Similar Books
