I don’t want to go to work. Not for normal reason; you know laziness, sick, stressed out. Nah I just don’t want to go because I don’t want to be saddled with the responsibility of training the newbie.
I’m all over avoiding responsibility, if it paid I’d be rich enough to buy a small european country by now!
Based on current evidence though, I’d have to say it seems I’m losing my touch.
Because, here I am, walking into a little hole in the wall music shop, walking into Beat It Records and CDs, starting my work shift, at 10:45 am, on a tuesday, to train ‘Sam’ AKA: The Newbie. I wonder if Sam with be easy to mess with, I hope so. At least if Sam’s easy to tease I’ll be able to have some fun. I could TOTALLY be sleeping! But no, I have work.
What was I thinking? Why did I ever grow up? Biggest mistake of my life!
Hoping to put off responsibly, even for a moment, I stop in the staff washroom, taking my dear sweet time fixing and fluffing my hot pink curls, eyeing my dirty blonde roots, and triple checking how well my purple eyeshadow matches my blue eyes, and brood over my tiny nose. Over all? Not bad, not perfect either, but not bad.
I leave the washroom, humming to the Depeche Mode song playing and hunting for my boss.
At almost six feet high with an extra foot of blond mohawk Trance is easy enough to find among the shelves of CDs. He’s over in the punk section with some black haired scrap of humanity, most likely the mysterious new Sam. I catch Trance’s eye, and point to the front desk, after I get the okay I weave my way through metal CDs to man the front desk.
I’m left hanging for like a minute, before Trance leads Sam over for introductions.
Did I call Sam a ‘scrap of humanity’? Oh man, I was wrong, Sam is a prime example of what a perfect human should be. Thick glossy black hair, half hearted tied back in a way so lazy and effortlessly cool, with deep dark brown eyes set in a face that must have been carved by a god, probably a greek god. Clad in tight acid washed blue jean, a tight black top showing off a very athletic build Sam exudes cool.
Be still my beating heart.
Trance was 100% unaffected, damn him! He totally knows Sam’s just my type: Hot.
“Rosie, meet Sam, Sam, this is Rosie, she’ll be taking over your training.” Trance introduces us, and we follow all commonly accepted social protocol. Which really just means awkwardly shaking hands and mumbling ‘Hi’ without eye contact.
It wasn’t long after that Trance retired to the back room to take stock, call suppliers, and do manager things. I play good little girl, showing Sam the ropes, explaining things, and teaching Sam how the till worked. All very straight forward and run-of-the-mill. Plus Sam’s actually smart, really smart, and picks up on everything really quickly. Everything was so easy I can't remember why I’d been so against teaching Sam an hour ago, it also helps that Sam’s super hot with great taste in music.
“Say what you want, I still like The Police,” Sam declares, arms crossed, expression haughty.
Okay maybe Sam only has good taste in music, not great.
“Well, maybe if you stick around long enough you’ll learn the error of your ways!” I snap back, equally haughty to our shared amusement.
I sneak a glance at the clock on the wall behind Sam, time’s running out, I’ve got less than an hour left on my shift and Beat It is rarely busy enough to have two people working the same shift. I have no idea when I’ll get another shot at Sam so I decide I’d best make my move while I can.
“You know, there’s a really nice burger joint, just down the street actually.” Oh yeah, I am so smooth.
“Oh really?” Sam asks perking up, I guess Sam either really likes burgers or just food in general. “What’s it called?”
“Clive burgers, maybe we can go together someday, between shifts.” I bite my lip, nervously twist a pink curl around my finger. “Like, you know, like a date.”
Sam’s head snaps around so fast I’m surprised Sam’s head is still attached.
“Like a date? Or an actual date?” Sam asks cautiously.
“An actual date,” I clarify, I’ve come this far, like they say: In for a penny, in for a pound.
“You know Rosie, you’re awesome and all, and I’m really, really, sorry,” Sam begins, all sweet apologies and gentle smiles. “But I like guys.”
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