FANGED

Chapter One

"You're not getting the day off Mel."

"But I really am sick," I whined pitifully in the phone doing the most spectacular impression of coughing up a lung. Truly it was my best performance ever. I totally deserved an Oscar for this.

"Unless I get a doctor's note, I expect you to show up. On time." My boss's geeky voice pissed me off. The little twit.

For the past six months, I've been bored out of my mind behind the counter at the Superpumper Bros. Food and Gas. You think the name of the company is bad, try working there. But, it pays well and I get to keep up on my favorite reading material, National Enquirer, Star, and Globe. Yes, I like to read about Elizabeth Taylor's adopted alien baby, don't judge me.

It's really a cake job; I get all the Diet Coke and Cheetos I can eat. Again, don't judge me. I work my ass off at the gym to be able to scarf down junk food and guzzle barrels of soda. Well...it was a cake job until one of the big bosses brought in their snot nosed brat to manage the place. Brion Badcock, the bane of my existence.

First off, who names their kid Brion? And second, I dare you to say Mr. Badcock and not laugh your ass off. Go ahead...I'll wait. See? You can't do it, can you? Well neither can I, hence why I call him Mr. B, because the little jackanapes demands I address him as my superior.

"If I come into work today, you'll take the chance of infecting every customer I come in contact with. Do you want that on our conscious Mr. B?" I continue flipping through the Macy's sales flyer, mapping out my battle plan.

"I'll take my chances."

"You really want to go down in history as the guy responsible for starting the plague?" I wheezed, adding a bit of phlegm to my next bout of fake coughing.

"Save it Mel, you're not fooling anyone." I could imagine him pushing those thick rimmed coke bottle glasses he wore, up his pimply nose. "Do you realize you have exceeded the amount of allotted sick days already this year?" I heard the rustling of papers and knew he was digging through my employee file, which for only being employed at the Superpumper for six months, was pretty thick. I was as good as sunk. My BOGO shopping spree disappearing faster than the Titanic sank in the North Atlantic.

"I have allergies," I defended and sniffled loudly into the phone.

"You've also attended your grandmother's funeral...five times."

"I come from a large family."

"It says here, that you have no living relatives."

"Well, duh! That's because they all...um...died...um...recently." Okay, so in my over eagerness to become a responsible adult and not get evicted out of my tiny rental house, I might have had a moment of integrity and filled out my application to the Superpumper with complete honesty. You can bet your sweet ass I won't be making that mistake again.

"Come on Brioooooon," I bemoaned.

"No note, no time off," he huffed and I could hear the faint rattle as he shook his inhaler.

"Fine, if I die then it will be on your shoulders!"

I heard the grody sound of him sucking in from his puffer. Yuck! It sounded like a bad obscene phone call. "I'll see you in 30 minutes. Do not be late!"

Drat! I jabbed the disconnect button so hard I heard my knuckle crack. I sighed. I missed the days of being able to slam a phone down in the receiver. When I get to work, I'm walking into Brion's office and smashing the phone into the cradle just for old times' sake, I sniffed in a huff as I lovingly refolded the sales flyer.