into a deep purple. Two days ago, it had been green and blue.
“Nice hair, Kristyn!” The music thumping through the speakers changed to “Voodoo Child,” and I waved to whoever was deejaying in acknowledgment. We all have our theme songs, and that had been deemed mine because they knew I liked Hendrix. (I suspect it was also the oldest music they could think of. Most of the kids I worked with were too young to remember the eighties, let alone Jimi Hendrix.)
By hook or by crook, I skirted the ever-rotating tower of body jewelry (for the piercing of your choice) and worked my way to the back and the relative sanity of the break room. I lingered only long enough to dump my wallet into my employee locker and grab my lanyard with my name tag and assorted snarky buttons. The name tag, too, said OLD DUDE. At thirty-two, I was the oldest employee in the district. Even Kristyn, ostensibly my boss, came in a few years shy of thirty.
Between the back room and the front counter, I handled three questions on prices, and one on fashion (which is such a bad idea, trust me). Abe was manning the stereo at the back of the store and trying to keep the shoplifters from making off with our CDs. I stopped long enough to have him nod me toward a couple he was keeping a particular eye on, then moved on. I finally arrived at the register to find that Kristyn had made a new friend. The dark lanky teen gave me a sullen look as he leaned against the wall.
“Rook for you to train, old dude.” Kristyn gave me a wicked grin. “This is Paulo. Paulo, this is old dude.”
I stuck out my hand to shake. I’m not totally devoid of manners. Paulo took it, glaring at me from under a mop of shaggy black hair and squeezing harder than was strictly necessary. Ah, so that’s how it was going to be. I held his grip, sizing him up. There was a distinct lack of piercings and tattoos about him, unusual for employees of It. He was of a height with me, all lean whipcord muscle, but there was no tone to it. Most likely he was a runner; maybe he lifted weights in a high school gym class. But he didn’t move like a fighter. I wasn’t worried. “Nice to meet you, Paulo.”
“Encantada. ” It was said with a sneer of sarcasm, but the accent of a native Spanish speaker. I made a mental note to have Mira brush me up on Spanish cuss words. Never hurts to know.
“Now, don’t let his age fool you,” Kristyn advised Paulo. “Old dude is a baaaaad man. He works security consulting on the side. All kung fu and stuff.” Well, at least she thought that’s what I did on the side. It was as good an explanation as any for why I left town abruptly and came home in bandages on a regular basis. I even had permits and licenses to make it all official, thanks to Ivan.
If Paulo was impressed, it didn’t show.
Kristyn was rapidly getting swamped, and I slid into the register next to her. “I didn’t know we were hiring.”
“Chelsea no-called again today, and I’d had it. Then Paulo walked in. It was like destiny!” My punk-haired boss gave me a cheeky grin, and I could only chuckle.
“Does he at least have some retail experience?” I hated training rookies from scratch, and she knew it.
“Nah,” she said, and my heart sank. “But he’s hot, and that’s what the girls want.” True enough, our young, brooding Latino was getting more than his share of admiring looks from the panting throng.
“If being hot is a hiring requisite, how the hell do I still have a job?”
Kristyn gave me a wink as she handed a customer’s card back. “You’re hot in an old-hippie kinda way.”
“Gee, thanks.” I smirked, bagging up some purchases to hand across the counter. “You do realize I’m about thirty years too young to have actually been a hippie, right?”
“Bah, hippie’s in the soul.”
Well, if hippie was the worst thing in my soul, I was doing pretty darned good.
Between the two of us, we managed to clear out the mob, one rabid customer at a time. By the time the crowd thinned, the other five employees had arrived for the monthly employee meeting.
Chris-a gargantuan teen whose six-foot-oh-my-God height allowed him to see most of the store at a glance- took over the register while the rest of us gathered around Kristyn. Paulo found a clothing rack to sulk against. I was starting to wonder whether he could stand up unaided. Maybe the sullen slouch was a medical condition.
The first announcement was the hiring of Paulo, prefaced by Kristyn’s assertion that “Chelsea will not be joining us again for the rest of her life. She pissed me off for the last time.” The dark boy gave everyone the same indifferent glower by way of greeting. Good to know it wasn’t just me.
“Spring Clearance will run through Sunday, and on that day we’ll have an extra ten percent employee discount tacked on.” Kristyn shuffled through a stack of e-mails, while the kids murmured amongst themselves. I eyed some of the clothing racks myself. You could never have too many T- shirts with witty sayings such as SOULS TASTE LIKE PEEPS. 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.”
