Straighter than Parallel Parking

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VOTE and COMMENT, PLEASE!

Chapter Twenty-Three { Wet Clothes and 200 Pound Bro's ) 

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JANICE CAN'T FEEL HER FACE WHEN SHE'S WITH uptight customers — and she does, in fact, not love it, contrary to the famous song by the Weeknd. Feeling her eyebrows twitch, Janice feels her overly enthusiastic smile start to wan.

"... And don't even get me started on how badly this stuff stained when I dropped it onto my blouses!"

"Ma'am, listen," Janice struggles to regain her composure, sure that getting fired from a Victoria's Secret store wouldn't look good on resumes (but then again, the store itself was an object of question, anyways). "I can promise you that this stuff is used for spraying, not applying directly on clothes itself. I can't help you with that, and I apologize but—"

"What do you mean but? I want a refund! What kind of employee are you if you don't understand simple English?" The blouse in question is still currently in Janice's grasp, the powerful scent wafting from the fabric and clouding Janice's train of thought. How about espero que te ahogues en tu perfume for you?  

Even though the store is technically a half hour over closing time, this particular shopper decides to put more of a fight into her purchase than most would, leaving Janice to deal with her messy accusations.

It's a freaking blouse, woman, Janice fumes internally, not your third child. 

This client seemed to be just as, if not more, stubborn than Janice, and that sentence is scary to even conjure, much less stick to a reality.

Feeling the beginning stages of a migraine start to creep up on her, Janice rubs her temples rigorously. "You're right. I feel insufficient to help you. Let me go get my manager and let him solve this."

The lady dishes out her attitude in kissing her teeth, exhaling so strongly that Janice feels the gust of wind and peppermint from across the counter. The stench of the lady's breath follows her all the way to the metal door in the back, an "Employee's Only" sign branded on the centre. 

She knocks fiercely and it  almost about to go all ninja on the door and kick the blasted thing until it swings open. James's tall figure emerges and Janice, all fire and smoke, douses. 

Although she sees this boy at least ten times a week, she'll always find something in her ribs start to twist just catching James' golden hair because, damn, did this guy wield Pantene like a weapon; lethal, untouchable and smooth.

"Thanks for waiting," James says sarcastically, taking in the the red tinge of Janice's cheeks. "What's wrong?"

"I take it back, I can't handle this," Janice blabbers, "Brielle's not here, Renée left and I'm stuck with uptight customers that are like kids that need me to hold their hand while they learn how to find the washroom."

"Wondering why you got a wet blouse in your hand. Things didn't go that well on finding one?"

"I will pretend like you didn't say that, or so God help me I will make sure you'll never know how to aim in a toilet for the rest of your life."

"... Why haven't I fired you yet?"

"Beats me. Now c'mon. I need a Tylenol and my customer needs someone to listen to her sob story without getting thrown in the dumpster with those tissues." Janice turns around, her energy level tanked to the negatives.

"What took you so long?" asked the customer sharply, and Janice internally rolled her eyes. "I have a life and I don't kindly appreciate spending it on things that should be resolved in seconds."