The Night Is Young

In July, Oh July

Work is horrible and dreadful, or are those two the same?

“Bitches,” I mutter under my breath as soon as my supervisor Adam is out of sight. Under my sweaty grasp is the smooth polished wooden handle connected to the dirty white yarn fiber of a mop head.  The fat rope like tendrils soak up every ounce of murky water in the bucket it’s unfortunate to dwell in. That’s right, I’m holding a mop.

Ashanti mop the bathroom, they say.

Scour the toilet boys, they say.

Wipe down the mirrors, they say.

Go ham on the dirty as fuck toilet boys, Shandra says.

FUCK ALL OF YOU, I say.

Though I’m raging inwardly my body is moving, my hands are lifting the mop out of it’s murky water and I’m preparing to do the deed. But I don’t want to.

I’m a gotdamn cashier, I don’t get paid for this SHIT.

I’m supposed to stand at the register, smile and ring up customers. I’m not supposed to be a janitor/stocker/cashier.

$7.25 an hour?

Hell nah.

Today’s a really bad day for me to be in a mood like this. Adams already on my ass and Shandra’s been talking about docking me a whole dollar because I was late. My response?

“My Daddy’s sick bitch.”

No, it was really, “My Dad wasn’t feeling too well and I lost track of time.”

And Nelson may have taken too long toting me to work too but I can’t blame him really because it’s not like I have my own transportation.

What was their response?

“Not my problem, you know the rules.”

And then the role of cleaning the womans bathroom came so conviently on my list of duties for today when really Ebony was supposed to do it. She get’s to taken an extra thirty minutes yapping on the phone with her whore of a boyfriend and yet I have to get the girls restroom and get docked a dollar just because Shandra doesn’t like me.

Well Adam doesn’t like me either, but he doesn’t like anybody. Shandra’s just….she just doesn’t like me. Maybe because when I speak my voice is low and mousy and irks the hell out of her. She wants me to sound like a elephant like her, or maybe it’s the fact that one of the co-workers she has a thing for by the name of White-Mike has a thing with flirting with me.

It’s not my fault he’s not attracted to her. Maybe if she would be nicer to people then I wouldn’t rag on her toothpick legs and excessive muffin top. Like how on the fuck do you have legs smaller than mines with twice my belly?

I’m being ruthless, inconsiderate, a bitch. Not outwardly, but inwardly because I’m pissed that people are so fucking stupid.

Shandra has Elephantitis of the stomach though.

I don’t feel too bad about thinking that because she told me the other day I was anorexic. I looked down at my thighs and then thought Bitch how am I anorexic when I have two drumsticks for legs? Forget the fact that my arms are small, my shoulder blades are bony and my torso is trim. It’s called being PEAR-SHAPED YOU OVERWEIGHT PEAR.

She also claims she has blue eyes.

I can see the white film around her contacts.

“Ugh.”

This bathroom smells like straight piss and feces. A scent unlike any other, something pleasant and supernatural snatches at my nose threatening to invade my nostrils, but I’m too quick for these bastards. I grasp my nose just as the full effect of the essence hits me in the eyes. A stinging associated with the smell has my eyes watering full force but I wish it away as I hold my nose with my right hand and hold the broom with my left.