Work

Jimmy was late. His shift at The Sandwich Shoppe had started 5 minutes ago and he was just now putting on his shoes. He had slept through his alarm (again) leaving him less than enough time to don his ill fitting maroon work shirt, black slacks and the hastily prepared lunch he had assembled the night before.

“Not even enough time for the toast in your mouth gag,” he thought absentmindedly while pushing on his scuffed black shoes and shoving his lunch into his backpack. He opened the front door and saw a small package on his doorstep with the unmistakable label of J-Lust. He quickly stuffed the package into his bag before bolting down his driveway to catch the number 65 bus to bring him to sandwich hell.

* * *

“You’re late!”

Maggie, Jimmy’s supervisor,” eyed him with disdain. Despite her miniscule 5′2 stature and tiny frame she had drawn herself up to resemble more of a regal lion than the mouse that might better fit her physique.

“I’ll start setting up,” said Jimmy. He really needed this job. His Mom had threatened to kick him out if he lost another one. He jogged briskly to the break room, deposited his backpack in the corner and washed up before beginning another grueling work day as a sandwich .

Early morning wasn’t exactly peak hours for the Sandwich Shoppe so his initial duties were mainly janitorial and inventory based. Jimmy methodically emptied each cupboard of its contents, sprayed the surfaces with cleaner and wiped and returned the items he had removed. As he knelt, Maggie loomed over him, glowering.

‘You know that’s three days in a row right? I’m supposed to report you…”

Jimmy hated having to bow down to this bitch but he had no other choice. He swallowed his pride and mustered up all the sincerity he could manage.

“I’m sorry. It won’t happen again. I’ll start leaving home earlier.”

“Sorry doesn’t cut it. Three strikes incurs a late fee of five dollars.”

“What?” Jimmy didn’t understand.

“Give me five bucks or I’m reporting your sorry ass.”

Jimmy knew this was extremely against the rules but he also knew that he didn’t want to be homeless. He pictured his mother’s face, sternly warning him to “Make sandwiches, not waves.” He angrily shoved his hand into his pocket and came out with a crumpled five dollar bill.

“That’ll do pig,” spat Maggie as she moved towards the other end of the store to survey her domain rather than accomplishing anything meaningful.

* * *

Jimmy’s favorite part of the workday was lunchtime. Not his lunchtime, although that was fine too, but the part of the day where there was a steady stream of customers and Maggie had but to act like a decent human being. Both of them were too busy assembling subs to get into any confrontations or arguments. He had been at the job long enough that he could almost entirely zone out when making the Cold Cut Combo or the Meatball Marinara. In a weird way, assembling sandwiches was a meditative experience.

All good things though must come to an end though. At about 4PM the place was dead and his tiny taskmaster resumed her glowering vigil. He did everything from trash runs to restocking to early cleaning. The list would have been almost manageable if Maggie had done her fair share of the work but instead the porcelain princess spent her time standing at the register or patrolling the area. Jimmy busied himself with restocking some mostly empty condiments.

“We wouldn’t have to do that so often if you didn’t drown all the subs in mayo,” Maggie sneered.

Jimmy didn’t reply. He wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of an argument.

“That shit’s gross anyway,” she continued, “maybe if you laid off guzzling mayo your man boobs might go down a cup size or three.”

Make sandwiches not waves. Make sandwiches not waves. Make sandwiches not waves.

Jimmy remained silent and stoney faced. The day was almost done.

* * *

Dinner wasn’t nearly as busy. The business parks that the Shoppe served were closed for the day and as the sky darkened their chief clientele became suburbanites who were too lazy to cook for themselves. Still, once again Maggie was all smiles and he had some reprieve from his endless list of chores. He even hummed to himself a little as he piled the meats and cheeses onto the Shoppe’s cheap, airy bread. This too though was short lived and soon the foreboding silence returned.

“I’ll mop, you sweep the back.”

After the last stragglers had left and Maggie had hung the small cardboard “Closed” sign in the window she barked an order which suggested that she would be helping with the day’s closing festivities. Her motives were far from altruistic though. As a manager Maggie could not leave until all of the cleaning was done for the day. Jimmy hid a smirk knowing that she had but to do a small amount of work before she could go home.

“Sure,” he said, eager to get away from the mousey manager.

He swept the dining area while Maggie began to mop behind the counter. Neither one talked to the other; both were focused solely on accomplishing their tasks as quickly as possible. Again Jimmy found himself spacing out, thinking mainly of the anime episodes he would be watching once he got off work. It was this lack of focus that changed Jimmy’s life forever.

Absentmindedly he made his way behind the counter to return the broom to the storage area and stepped onto the soapy, slick, freshly mopped floor without a thought. Jimmy’s feet moved like a cartoon; his right foot slid forward and his left foot slid back. He overcorrected his stance and the two switched places. Unable to find his balance, he slid to the floor and landed face first in suds.

The next thing he saw was Maggie’s blurry, smiling face. Her mouth was unashamedly contorted into an open grin. She giggled fully and shrilly, making no effort to help him to his feet.

“Nice work dipshit. At least you didn’t damage the floor. Looks like you broke something else though.”

Jimmy’s glasses were cracked beyond repair. His prescription lenses were uselessly fragmented in the bent frame. Either the glasses were made of cheaper stuff than he had been promised or he had fallen harder than he thought. He struggled to his feet, gripping the counter.

“Don’t think this excuses you from today’s count though.”

“Fuck”, he thought. They still had to count the cash in the register. His last task of the day was to count the day’s earnings and have Maggie check off that everything added up. There was no way he could complete this with a shred of accuracy without his glasses. At the same time though, he knew that Maggie could easily write him up for shirking any of his assigned duties.