This is an actual environment, in fact, this is my life.  The names 
have not been changed because there are no innocent, and they're 
not going to read this anyway!!!  <Muaaaaaahaaahaaaa!!!>  I have 
exaggerated some things about the characters to make them 
more... normal.  The only name change is the company that I work 
for.  (Basically because I'm not sure I want everyone to have to 
know where I spent six years of my life!!  ;-)

I think everyone should have to work in a place were they have to 
wear stupid out-fits and be nice to every miserable wretch that 
walks through the doors.  I think the world would be a MUCH 
better place if people like Rockefeller and whoever owns the 
Yankees would have to spend a month working for 5.45 behind 
convenience store counter, or flipping burgers.  You learn to 
respect-well-tolerate every imaginable type of person on God's 
creation!!  ...And believe me, after six years, I can put up with 
ANYONE!

'Nough rambling... sorry!


"Part Time"
by Isis @}->--
isis@moonkingdom.com
http://www.geocities.com/realmofisis
Rated G
Short Fiction


"Why is it that every time I come in here I find you on your 
knees?"

Serena was startled to the point that she dropped the sopping rag 
that she had been attempting to wring out into the bucket in front 
of her.  With a wet "sploosh," the contents of the full bucket, 
namely dirty water, leapt out of its container and dowsed her 
already wet jeans.

"Oh!" she squeaked, racing to her feet.

She heard the chuckle from behind her before she turned to give 
the man a threatening stare.  Darien Chiba, regional manager for 
the C-Mart convenience store chain that she worked in.  The oh-so-
cute, just slightly older, fresh out of college with a marketing 
degree... very single, Darien Chiba.

"Why do I always seem to make of mess of myself when you're 
around," she replied hotly.

He shrugged, still chuckling.  "Sorry.  I heard we were having 
problems with the ice freezer."

She nodded, getting back down on the floor.  "The repair guys 
haven't shown yet."

No sooner had her knees hit the floor than the beep-beeps of the 
gas pumps brought her back up with a sigh.  "And I'm the only one 
here."

Jogging to the front, she leaned over the counter and authorized the 
number three pump for a large lady in a child-filled sedan, all of 
the little ones in sports uniforms of one type or another.  She 
walked, a bit more calmly, around the counter to stand in front of 
the register as a balding man tried each lid in the rack before 
finding the one that fit his fountain drink.  By the time he stepped 
up to the register she had already rung up the sixty-eight cent item 
and waited the full minute before he pulled out a twenty dollar bill 
and explained to her that he had come from the fair in town and 
had spent everything but that on his grandchildren... the third such 
story she had heard today.

By now, the troop of game kids were in rummaging through the 
store.  They were picking up candy items to show each other, 
before putting them back in the wrong places.  She authorized the 
number two and four pumps before they had the chance to beep.  
Then she stood waiting for the kids to make up their minds.

Two of them came forward with a pop and candy bar each.  
Another skipped the pop, and settled instead for the simple sugar 
high from three chocolate bars.  All paid in an assembly of 
crumpled ones and a large collection of pocket change.  A line of 
five people had developed behind the penny-counting kids, and 
Serena now had pump number four stacked with two customers in 
line to pay.

She noticed Darien walking behind the counter, as he avoided both 
the mop bucket and the trash sack she was filling.  He was known 
to pop in unannounced and, she was sure, he enjoyed the look of 
terror in her manager's eyes when he caught something amiss.

Serena had been part-time help in this store for six years.  She had 
started as a temporary worker her sophomore year of high school, 
and had since worked her way through two years of college.  She 
was now saving up enough to put herself through her remaining 
two years, so that she could finally get a real life.

Of course, it didn't look like she was going anywhere next year 
either....  She had been placed in a thirty-hour-a-week position, 
bouncing between register and kitchen duties, and usually the one 
they called first when someone else didn't show.  Except for one 
other night shift person, she had outlasted everyone else on the 
payroll, and had been around to see every imaginable type of low-
life, insufferable nuance to mankind in the flesh... and train them.

Darien was a rather nice breath of fresh air.  He started on as the 
regional manager only two months ago, and she liked him.  He was 
intelligent, well dressed, and actually listened to suggestions.  All 
of which were foreign to the managers that they had suffered 
through before.

The store's manager... wasn't the brightest light bulb in their 
florescent sunshine, but she was more than capable of making up 
excuses for the things she did wrong, and blaming everyone else 
four times over for a single mistake on their part.  And Darien 
didn't buy it.

That, actually, would have been enough for her to like the guy.

Slowly, the line traveled out the door again and the gas pumps 
were empty once more.  Serena uncorked her smile and walked 
back around the counter.  She wiped down the red top of it where 
one kid had spilled a drink he had filled too full, replaced the key 
chain rank to where it should be, and rearranged the lighters and 
other impulse items next to the register to look presentable.  She 
could do this five times an hour and it still looked tacky.

She hurriedly filled the cups for the fountain drinks and checked 
the ice level in the machines.  Coke was a little low, but she'd do 
that after her relief came in.  Checking the pumps through the 
windows for signs of life, she walked back to the ice freezer and, 
again, took to mopping up the water that was dripping out of the 
machine and onto the towels that they had placed down.  Wring, 
wring, wring, and she finally had a dry floor, for the next ten 
minutes, but for the sake of lawsuits, she placed the "Caution, Wet 
Floor" sign back up in front of the mess.

Walking back to the front she saw that she had missed a customer 
lost somewhere in the ranks of potato chips and display of all six 
flavors of M&M's, and he was now paying Darien for his candy 
bar, not that he looked like he needed it.  She cringed a bit at 
having their high and mighty manager doing her job for her, and 
mumbled a "Sorry," when she came around the counter again.

"No problem, you seem to have your hands full," he commented.  
Looking through a couple of papers that he had pulled from the 
office he leaned back against the cigar rack on the back counter.  
"Margie did call the repair shop, correct?"

She nodded, "She said she did, but they haven't shown yet.  It is 
Sunday after all."  She was actually surprised that their assistant 
manager was not present in the store.  The woman averaged thirty-
five to forty hours on the clock, and that or more in here off the 
clock.  She didn't have much of a life, but continually tried her 
best to run everyone else's by just "popping in" once an hour.

Of course, if Margie saw Darien's car outside, it was no wonder 
that she was now avoiding her "home," seeing as she also had to 
answer to they over-lord for the bookkeeping duties.

He nodded, not looking up from the paper work.  "Where's 
Connie?"

She shrugged, "It's her weekend off."

He looked up at her, then down again.  "What weekend doesn't she 
have off?"

She smirked a bit at the retort focused on their ever-loved manager, 
but busied herself ringing up a refill for her first coffee-drinker of 
the afternoon.  The man laid a quarter on the counter for it, then 
asked how much rain she had gotten the night before.  When she 
batted her eyelashes and asked if it had rained, the man walked 
around to the sitting area, shaking his head and mumbling about 
hiring better help.

Three o'clock, break time for the coffee-drinkers that worked 
construction jobs, and the "I'll be back soon" time for the old 
farmers that joined them.  Even on Sundays you could count on a 
little batch of them showing up to talk about the weather, or the 
crops, or politics, or who she was supposedly dating... not always 
in that order, but they usually got around to all of them before they 
wondered out again.

Today was slow, only four had shown up to report on the rain.  
One would walk in and the others would say "How much rain ya 
get?" and they would reply, then those sitting around would give 
their reports on it.  When the next person came in, the whole Area 
Rain Reporting Information Broadcasting Service would begin 
again.

Darien chuckled at the men as he overheard their discussions from 
his position by the back counter, the sitting area being right behind 
him.  The coffee-drinkers had gotten use to him, and even teased 
him once in a while if he was in during meeting times, but for the 
most part, they were stuck on farm stuff today.

He scribbled on the papers he was going through while he talked to 
her as she waited on the three o'clock rush of non-coffee-drinks 
that came in for snacks, or to check their losing lottery tickets from 
last night's drawing.  It was always the same, yet, always different.

"Who comes in for the night shift?"

"La June... hopefully."

"Ah," he murmured from behind.

An elderly man ventured up to the counter.  "Eighty cents please," 
she stated, ringing up a cup of coffee and a thirty-five cent donut.

"Huh?"

"Eighty cents," she repeated, noting the hearing aid.

"Eighteen?"

"Eighty," she over enunciated.

"Oh, oh," he said, pulling his change holder from his pocket and 
dumping it into his other hand.  Several coins fell from the slightly 
crippled, well-weather fingers, and when the contents of the purse 
were out he offer it to her, "Is it there?"

Serena smiled politely as she arranged two quarters, two dimes, 
one nickel, and five pennies in her hand in front of him and 
nodded.  "That's right."

The man smiled happily, dumped what was left of his collection 
back into the plastic green holder, and stuffed it once more into his 
pocket.  Slowly he turned to leave... without his donut.  "Sir."

He turned back, smile still present.

"Don't forget your donut," she said, handing him the plastic 
wrapped item.

"Oh, don't wan'a forget that, my wife wouldn't like me much for 
not bringin' her roll."  He chuckled all the way back out the door.

He seemed sweet and she watched him with a smile.

"And just think," Darien stated from behind her.

"What?" she turned.

"He's driving."


La June had shown herself ten minutes early, and Serena was just 
about to hug the girl!  Darien had placed himself in the office, 
pouring over paperwork and book totals for the rest of the 
afternoon, yet was nice enough to give her a hand on the second 
register if she caught too large of a rush.

She really did like the guy....

For the shift change, Serena cleaned out the register draw and piled 
all of the credit card and charge account papers on top of it.  She 
would sort them, and the lottery sales, later.

"Who's the hottie in the office?" La June asked when she came 
back from clocking in.

"Darien Chibi, regional manager," she stated busily.

"Oh," she said, one finger twilling some of her shoulder length 
blond hair.  "Then I guess I shouldn't have asked him what he was 
doing after he got out of here, huh?"

She hefted the pile to a one-hand balancing act, and then stopped.  
Looking at her oddly she decided against a comment and twitched 
a smile at her instead, before turning and nearly running back to 
the office herself.

Darien sat at Connie's manger's desk, before the large window that 
looked out from behind the registers into the store.  Idly he 
lounged back in the chair, pen tapping his teeth as she entered.  
Without turning he asked, "La June gets out a little too much, 
doesn't she?"

She cringed a bit and chuckled at the same time.  "I would prefer 
not to spread rumors."

He turned to regard her disbelievingly as she seated herself, and 
her pile of register receipts, at the assistant manager's desk facing 
the opposite wall in the small office.

She caught the look and shrugged.  "Or those types of well 
confirmed truths either."

He nodded, turning once more to the figures in front of him.  "I 
completely understand."

"She didn't realize you were someone important," she explained, 
starting to sort the receipts.

"So glad to hear my job entitles me to better pick-up lines."

Serena giggled through the rest of her end-of-shift report.


The stocking of the cooler.  Besides taking out the trash, it was 
always the last thing to do before she could clock out and go home.  
She had filled in her relief as to the problem with the ice freezer, 
and the news to call Connie, should she ever be found, if Ron the 
repair guy showed up.

She doubted he would, she doubted it would be fixed by Tuesday 
when she worked again.

The cooler was stocked neatly, nice and orderly, for the entire 
outside world to see, but on the inside, it looked... different.  The 
product racks facing the glass doors inside the store covered the 
entire width of the building, except for a small area for its sealed, 
metal door, and the breaker boxes at the very North end.  The 
length of the other wall was covered over with products to create 
all those of nicely placed drinks.

Milk, and odds and ends, in the first cooler.  Juices, and "100% 
natural, made from concentrate, first ingredient is sugar" stuff in 
the next two.  Pepsi, then Coke, products took up the next six, in 
sizes from cans to big "fill up my gas tank" bottles, arranged as 
one viewed the cooler from top to bottom.  Sports drinks in two 
brands, 38 flavors, and five sizes filled one door on their own.  
Water, and expensive "All new, 100% natural, made from soy 
beans, first ingredient is sugar" stuff filled another one.  And of 
course, the last three were filled with the ever-popular beer stuffs; 
single bottles, 6-pack bottles, 12-pack bottles, or can in 6-packs, 
12-packs, 24-packs, or 32 pack cases.

...And the cooler was always set to 34 degrees.

The madhouse of a day had, of course, drained everything.  Empty 
spaces looked back at her every step of the way, and after a hard 
day, the plastic crates that had to be moved around in order to find 
the various products that were so neatly arranged to the outside 
world, were extremely heavy.

Juice here, tea there-no, wait-peach tea, not unsweetened.  Diet 
soda, regular soda, diet soda, regular soda, diet-err-regular 
soda, regular soda, diet soda.  "Twist of Lemon Pepsi?  Where did 
this stuff come from?  ...And who would buy it?  Well gee, finally 
a bin that's full."

The mental process for filling a cooler amounted to thoughts of 
who had bought what, why they carried such things to begin with, 
and how extremely cold it was.  Serena was again on the "does our 
pop really need to be this cold" question when she heard the 
familiar chunk-clang of the walk-in's door.

"Serena?"

She looked up, as Darien entered, from her position on her hands 
and knees attempting to reach to the front of the bottom shelf 
where a Big Slam Mountain Dew had fallen cap first on its plastic 
track.

"That's it, I know every time I find you you're on all fours.  I 
know this job can be demeaning, but please try not to let it get to 
you this hard, huh?"

She wearily gave him an irritated look as she remained hunched 
over, one arm still outstretched into the confines of the bottom 
rack, right knee leaning on the plastic crate containing other large 
bottles that was directly in the way of what she was trying to fill, 
and the other spread for balance until it nearly touched the wire 
shelves on the opposite wall.

He shrugged, "OK, you've had a bad day."

She sighed and went back to reaching for the bottle.  "What do you 
need?"

"Oh!" a surprised squeak came from the other side of the wall of 
cans and bottles.  "Well, um, I'm kind of looking for something 
without caffeine...."

Serena hadn't realized that a customer had opened the cooler door 
above her.  She started for a moment before shrugging and going 
with it.  "Caffeine-Free Pepsi is on the third shelf, Sprite and 
Caffeine-Free Coke is two doors to your left, juice is to the right."

"Oh, well, thank you."

Serena heard the woman close the door and saw a shadow shuffle 
down the row.  She faintly thought she heard her mumble 
something about the things these convenience stores were 
trying....  But she definitely heard a deep chuckle grow to full 
laughter from behind her.

She managed to finally pull the retarded bottle of liquid 
hyperactivity upright before she rose herself off the frozen-titled 
floor.  Of course, her checks were warming right up now....

Darien was still laughing, one hand over his eyes, rubbing at his 
temples.  In the uncertain lighting coming from the store outside, 
his smile glistened and she could just see a small puff of foggy 
breath come from his lips.  Oh, yes, she'd be writing her "how not 
to impress your really adorably cute boss at work" book in her 
diary tonight.

"Oh, I'm sorry," he mumbled, probably wiping a tear from his eye.

"Would this be a good time to ask for a raise?" she said instead, 
turning back to the mockingly empty rows.

"I'll be sure to mention it to Connie... when I see her."

"Great," she sighed with defeat.

He chuckled again and she purposefully turned to get something 
father back in the cooler.  "Take two, what can I do for you?"

"I... um...."  He paused, looked around him, and then back to her.  
"I don't remember."

She paused in loading her arms up with Diet Cokes to stare at him.

He pursed his lips just a bit, blinked a few times before throwing 
his hands up in a "never mind" fashion.  Unfortunately he 
misjudged the room he had to make a gesture like that in the 
cramped space and ended up whacking his right hand against the 
overhanging self, sufficiently dislodging a crate of glass-bottled 
sarsaparilla.

The momentary impulse of pain didn't diminish his reflexes from 
to prevent the items from falling, and Serena likewise lunged 
forward, Diet Cokes were plastic after all.  Catching it in a one-
hand balance, Darien tried to use the elbow of the same arm to 
block the bottles from tumbling out of the plastic confines.  
Misjudging the weight of the crate to begin with, it swerved from 
his hold and tipped sideways.

As he fumbled for a stabilizing handhold, Serena rushed to catch 
the bottles and block their attempts at the suicidal rush to the floor.  
With one hand on the crate and the other wrapping around it to 
hold them in, she was only half successful, and three of them 
tumbled over her arm and shoulder to land on the opposite side of 
her.  All with a very wet shattering sound....

When the echo died Serena let her breath out slowly and looked up 
to find herself eye to eye with a very somber Darien.  "I'll leave 
Connie a note about that raise."

She groaned pitifully and slowly raised her arm, which most of the 
bottles still rested against, as Darien straightened out their 
container.  Slowly they were placed back on their shelf and both 
sighed before looking down to what had become of the jumpers.  
One had survived, whole and in tact it lie on the floor, mourning 
the loss of its friends as they leaked out all around it.  One had 
obviously hit cap first and broken its neck.  The other went belly-
flop style and just tore itself all to pieces.

She stood by and watched the little bubbly liquid spread evenly 
across the floor, filling into cracks and slowly wondering over to 
her shoes.  ...Somehow, she knew how they felt.  Vaguely she 
noted someone open a door, remove an item from a shelf that she 
had already stocked, and let the door bang shut again.

"Serena?"

She turned to find Darien holding a mop behind her.  Had he 
already gotten that and come back?

"Were they friends of yours?"

"Har har," she replied, snapping out of it.  Stealing the towels that 
he had draped over his arm she squatted down and quickly built a 
little dam with them around the pool as best she could.  "This is 
why I'm always on my knees."

She heard a chuckle and footsteps, another second and he was back 
beside her in the enclosed cooler with a trashcan from the back 
room.  Carefully he removed the broken glass as she sopped up 
sarsaparilla, attempting to fish it out from under the levels of 
plastic display shelves.

Using the mop to get the rest of it, they were left with a wet, clean 
spot on a, what she now noticed, very dirty floor.  "Maybe I should 
just mop all of it."

"Why don't we just finish the stocking and get out of here before 
we have to be treated for hypothermia."

"Especially since La June will probably never notice we're back 
here until she comes to do this herself," she sighed.

"And, I'm sorry, but I don't particularly want to give her any 
excuse to try mouth to mouth, kay?"

After a very long day, with everything going wrong that could 
possibly happen, with completely embarrassing herself in front of 
Darien, and royally giving herself a headache... she died laughing.  
Slowly she sunk down to sit on the edge of the milk crate and 
continued to laugh.

"Well come on, would you?"

She shook her head back and forth, doubling over a bit.

"I mean, I can really think of a few better ways to die then freezing 
into an inanimate ice cube, and then being smothered to death with 
a lip-lock from some woman that thinks I'm too cute to let die in 
her cooler!"

Serena sufficiently fell off of her precarious seat, and settled 
herself on the more stable floor.  With one hand over her face she 
continued to laugh until she didn't think she could breath the 
refrigerated air any longer.

"Oh yeah, you're laughing, I bet she's never asked you what 
you're doing after work, has she?"

On impulse she kicked her left foot out to hit him in the shin, 
hoping to silence him enough to get her air back.  Unfortunately, 
she forgot that this wasn't her day.

Darien had decided to take a pace toward her at the same moment, 
and picked up the wrong foot to boot.  The kick, aimed for his 
shin, instead made contact with the top of his ankle, turned it just 
enough that he couldn't return it to the floor and keep his balance.  
With no solid objects to grab hold of, he pitched forward, straight 
on top of her, and was taking the mop he was holding with him.  It 
and his hands hit first, the wooden handle attempting to leave a 
bruise on her thigh were it landed.  His hands, though, hit on the 
other side of her and it was all she could do to help stop him from 
landing flat on her bent knees.

As it was, he pinned her legs to the floor, rolling when he hit kept 
him from smashing her into the title cracks.  Settled finally on his 
side, hands on the floor, she stared at him wide eyed.  "Are you all 
right?"

He paused then looked at her very calmly.  "...You're fired."

She stared back before realizing that he was unharmed.  She took 
in the fact that they were sitting on the floor in a walk-in cooler in 
the back of a convenience store that she had, remorsefully, spent 
six years of her life in, and....

"Thank you!" she gushed, folding her hands and leaning forward 
until her head nearly hit his.  "Thank you, thank you, thank you, 
thank you, thankyou, thankyou, thankyou...."

She continued to repeat the phrase over and over again as she 
heard him laugh and begin to pat her on the back.

"You guys still alive in there?" came a loud yell from an open 
front door.

They both looked up to where they could just see a shadow falling 
over the rows of drinks from the store beyond.

La June really never did get an answer....

@}->--_____________

I know God won't give me more than I can handle. 
 I just wish He didn't trust me so much.  - Unknown

Some days are a total waste of makeup. - Unknown


*I have actually had a request for me to continue this story.  I had
intended this to be just an exercise and a reflection after work one
day.  But... I might be convinced to continue if you, as the reader,
want me to.  Drop me a line, let me know!  ;)  []{}