“You weren’t exactly fired for covering my shift. And you’ve got to be more proactive,” Annie said. “Work the system from the inside out. I can’t change the fact that a wacky white guy is the Chief Ecosystem Officer of this company or that I’m basically moving from deli counter maid to secretary. But I’m going to be the secretary who gets animals treated better all over this barbaric country.” She looked straight at me with those stern, cacao-nib brown eyes. “Stop complaining. Stop being so wishy-washy. You want the power? Take it.”
“Well, I hope you’ll use your newfound power to find out some deep background on Duckie & Lambie Moisturizer. If animals are being tortured in the making of that product I want to know!” I said.
Right then the two cops who always buy lunch at the deli came through the front door. Jason and Nelson, who had been chopping potatoes, dropped their knives and hustled toward the kitchen exit. Jason has a warrant for an unpaid fine he got the time he was caught spray-painting a mural in an alley off East Fifth Street. I think Nelson’s warrant is for something less sexy. Maybe unpaid traffic tickets? “They never arrest anyone here,” I called to their fleeing backs.
The officers came straight up to the deli counter, but instead of ordering their usual meat-centric sandwiches, one said, “We’re looking for Steve Latwats.”
Annie shot me a look that said: “You want the power? Take it.” Or maybe it was: “This cop is hot” (which he was), but I took it as the former.
“Let me ask where he is. Be right back,” I trilled, and tried to walk as calmly as I could to Dirty Steve’s office. I slipped inside without knocking, closing the door behind me.
“What is it, Poxy Roxy?”
“What did you do?”
“What did I do? What kind of nonsense question is that? Get back to work.”
“What. Did. You. Do?”
“You aren’t going post-firing psycho on me, are you? Tell me you aren’t going to kill me.”
“Two cops are here asking about you. They’re probably here to arrest you, man.”
“Oh, shit.”
“And I’m asking you why.”
“Nunya.”
“I could be your ticket out of here without handcuffs. But I want to know why.”
“Nunya business.”
“Okay, fine. I’ll send them right in.” I turned toward the door.
“Wait, wait. Fine,” Dirty Steve said. “That stripper I’ve been seeing? I fucked her too good. Big mistake. She showed up at my house during a coke binge wanting more. I said no, and I didn’t want to see her anymore, either. She freaked out and attacked me. I pushed her, but only to get her out of my house.”
I believed him. Jealousy and a desire for control are the harbingers of the domestic-violence perpetrator, but when it comes to women, Dirty Steve seems to vacillate only between horniness and disinterest.
“If she filed a complaint against me, those cops probably have a warrant,” Dirty Steve continued. As he spoke, he became increasingly frantic. “Oh man, oh man, oh man, I can’t let them put cuffs on me at work. I’m the boss! And I didn’t do anything!” He started pacing around his small office, mumbling under his breath about how he’d never survive the clink.
I saw an opportunity to seize. “I’ll distract the cops long enough for you to get out of here,” I said. “You can go down to the police station and turn yourself in, see if you can get this cleared up instead of being arrested here in front of everyone. If—”
“If I don’t fire you.”
“Exactly.”
“I have to fire you.”
“And you’ll be handcuffed in front of all your employees and hundreds of customers. Maybe we can go apply for unemployment together.”
“Fine. Fucking fine. You win. But I have to do something to show the other deli wingdings I’m not soft. Two weeks’ suspension without pay.”
“With pay.”
“One week without pay, one week of sick leave. But you tell everyone both weeks are unpaid.”
“Deal. When you leave, go out the front.”
I hurried back to the deli counter where the cops were waiting for me. “Steve is training a new stocker. I’ll take you to him.” I felt Annie’s eyes proudly on me as I escorted the cops through the store to the doors next to Dairy that lead to the stockroom. I took the cops wandering through the stockroom as I yelled, “Steve! Dirty Steve!” Finally I gave the officers an “aw shucks” look and said I couldn’t imagine where he’d gone. When I made my way back to the deli counter, Annie asked me if I was still employed.
“You want the power? Take it,” I said.
She gave me a high five. “I laughed my ass off to see Dirty Steve hightailing it out the front door. That was amazing,” she said. It was only then I could actually feel happy about Annie’s good news.
“Why don’t you come over tonight and we can celebrate? We could watch that documentary about factory farming and bologna production? So fucking disgusting.” As you know, Annie and I love to bond over our shared veganism. We watched every food documentary at Waterloo Video and are now, out of necessity, moving on to Netflix.
“I can’t tonight,” she said. “I’ve gotta prep for my first animal-rights meeting with Topher Doyle, which he doesn’t yet know he’s going to be having with me soon.” She gave me her sassiest, get-shit-done grin.
Just as Annie walked away, who should appear at the deli but that snack and a half, Patrick. I almost knocked Nelson over to ensure I was the one to take Patrick’s order. Everett, I could barely scoop up the revolting chicken salad he ordered, distracted as I was by his adorable nubby dreads, those bright hazel eyes, and that skin the color of an iced soy milk latte (Yum! He’s so fine, I can’t bring myself to care that he eats meat). He wore Vans, baggy shorts, and a The Kills T-shirt over his ripped little skater body. Casually, he mentioned that after work he was going to the skate park. Everett, before you judge, remember, a lot of guys in their early thirties still skate. There’s nothing wrong with keeping it real. I actually admire Patrick’s refusal to conform to societal expectations that we give up our passions as we age. It’s inspiring, really.
When I “weighed” the chicken salad, I barely let the box touch the scale. Patrick clearly noted the heft of the box and the very low price. “Thanks, Roxy,” he said. He leaned in toward the deli counter and lowered his voice. “You’re always hooking me up. Hopefully someday I can repay the favor.” He gave me a wink I felt deep in my lady bits. He could thank me by nibbling my sweet-and-sour peach, I tell you what. That would be a worthy way to finally break my post–Brant Bitterbrush man-fast.
It’s been a roller coaster of a day! I was fired, found out Annie has started her meteoric rise, then heroically salvaged my job, and finally successfully flirted with Patrick! It’s a lot to take in. Luckily, thanks to the power of Annie’s pep talk and the support of my favorite planetary deity, I’m still employed. But I’m out a week’s pay. So, dear Everett, you need to give me the rent you owe me by Wednesday or I’m advertising your room on Craigslist.