Thursday, March 12th, 2020 4:00 pm

Thursday, March 12th, 2020

4:00 pm

I open the heavy wood door and enter my daily hell hole of a job.

"Hey there, Cher Bear!" My manager, Rudy, chimed once I entered the building. "What have you been up to on this fine March day?"

"Nothing much, Rudy the Jackass Giraffe," I reply sarcastically.

"Whoah, there, Cher Bear," Rudy says, holding his hands up in defense. "When have I been a Jackass to you?"

"Usually just Fridays and Saturdays. Aren't we all some form of an asshole when we're stuck making food for assholes though?" I question amusingly, ensuring he feels the ease of my joking ways.

"Very true." He sighs, shaking his head. "No one ever respects us quick service essential workers these days."

Utterly agree there, sir.

I continue my position behind the counter, preparing myself for the daily customers calling in and their continuous complaints. The downside to a customer service job is you're the bait for people to take their anger out on. Whether it be an unexpected price with the items they are ordering, a simple mistake on order, or the delivery drivers taking a bit longer than usual due to the excessive amount of orders building up, they will almost always find something to be mad about. Those are the ones who feel the need to, at least.

Smile, nod, and offer them a discount for next time, Cher.

I start in on my usual to-do's and head to the kitchen to see what needs to be stocked up. Ma and her son, Brice, were already working, preparing the delivery orders we had to go out. We call her Ma because she is a mother figure in our little family-like crew. Whenever shit hits the wall, you can always count on Ma to get our chaotic minds back together. Her name's actually Susan, but she's been the person who's worked here the longest, so the nickname's stuck.

"Hey there, Ma!" I smile her way.

"Hey, Cher!" Ma chimes back. Behind her is one of my other coworkers, Maxwell, who also works in the kitchen. "Hey there," Maxwell says with a half smile and a wave. "How are you doing today?" He asks while putting his hands in his pockets and heading my way.

"Pretty groovy," I reply charismatically. "Just the daily do's." I smile, nod, and quickly head back to my side of the restaurant to start preparing.

Big boxes, 20

Small Boxes, 10

Appetizer bags, 25

Luckily, it's been a pretty dead day, and the orders have been flowing in like we have on the weekends.

Praise be Weekdays.

I continue my daily do's and finish getting all my required items stocked up.

"Well, hello, you!" I hear come from behind me.

I turn around, and there's my semi-good friend, Matthew, our bar manager.

"You want to go smoke some greens?" He asks me, holding out a long joint in his hands.

"Eh, might as well," I reply and follow him to the back of the bar and out the door to the alleyway.

Matt and I met about half a year ago, which seems long, but we only had actual friendly-like conversations about a month ago. We had a chill friend vibe and would have little conversations here and there, but never to the extent of true friendship and getting to know one another. All I knew about him was that he was a big fan and supporter of the greens (aka marijuana) and that he once lived in Minnesota and thought of me as a significant resemblance, visually wise, of many of the women there.

"Tall, blonde, and fit."

As he would say.

Once the joint is lit, he takes a swig off of it and then hands it my way.

Inhale.

Blessed Be.

Exhale.

Praise the greens.

My mind returns to its peaceful place, and all my stress from earlier on evaporates.

How much longer can I allow myself to be stuck in this place?

"I really hope we're not busy tonight." Matt says, longing out his use of the word "really." "I've got a buddy in the area, and he's going out to do some bar hopping and get trashed tonight, so I need to join in on that."

The door swings open, and Rudy, my manager, sticks his head out into the alleyway.

"What's going on back here?" Rudy asks, his face suspicious, trying to hide the smirk forming.

"Fuck off, Rudy. You smoked almost all my weed last night. Plus, aren't you working? You're the manager." Matt goes on spouting Rudy's way.

"Excuse me, bar manager! Plus, I've been cleaning up your mess here all day since you guys left it trashed last night once again. So, I should be offered a smoke of this joint as a thank you."

I nod my head and hand the joint over to Rudy.

Hell yes to that shit.

"Whatever, I'm going in to try and get a hold of Sierra to cover my shift," Matt states, getting ready to head inside. He turns my way and points at the joint in Rudy's hands. "You can finish that up." He says with a smile, followed by a look up and down at my physique.

Rudy rolls his eyes, taking notice of Matt's apparent physical presentation of his mind's reactions to me.

Men.

*Smh*

I don't speak as much as I should here. I've come reasonably adjusted to it, even though I'm endlessly irritated with myself every time I don't.

It's pathetic

I've been stuck in this living and working environment for almost a year. I have a deep love for it; even if I were the one watching myself right now, I would be continuously shouting at myself to get my head out of my ass. I have quite a tendency and acknowledged a history of becoming "stuck" quite quickly.

I became a part of this cluster of a story when I desperately needed a job once I moved to the area. All I wanted was a break from my disarray in life, and I thought taking the easy way out, work-wise, would help give me not only a mental break but also extra free time to focus on myself and try to start figuring out what I want for myself, within the life I have ahead. Being a twenty-year-old female, too, leaves me knowing any customer service position would gladly take me in quickly due to my looks being an advantage in sales and calling in the sprawl of the masculine male population that overpowered these parts of the New England area.

I'd come from hippy-esque Maine before moving here. Now, with myself stuck in New Hampshire, all I had to say was the only beneficial thing brought to the table by this state was the holdback in tax fees and the feeling of being a badass when driving with the good old "over 18 no seatbelt required" law. Their two main ballparks of presentation, while the rest of society's concerns were ignored.

Sunday nights are the one thing I have applauded since my start at this shit show.

Every week, I get the complete assurance that the sanity of humanity exists within this community upon this one night out of the six others. It was my first week working at this place that I had taken notice. I had been finishing my night shift with the usual huffs and puffs of overly expressed frustration in the quietest attempts. Suddenly, I spotted a bright neon yellow head of hair from the corner of my eye. I turned to see where this luscious magnetic energy came from and was greeted by a "Queen."

Yes, a Drag Queen.

Her name's Alexis. She's the central head and host of the shows we have here. Her body's absolutely flawless and so damn sexy; may I also add, her curves are natural. She barely even proportionalized herself because she's already gifted with her body of beauty.

Now, with many of my family members and friends, as well as myself, being a part of the queer community made me smile abundantly, seeing someone within the same community as myself standing right before me.

It sounds overly exaggerated and simply pathetic from a hetero-like point of view. Still, with the placement of where I'd had myself stuck working and the people in my constant surroundings, it was a brightening blessing to my time to know there were people like myself in my new area of living, as well as themselves represented at my line of work. Also, my job consists of around twelve to fifteen employees, depending on the day, and only four of us are women.

Endlessly grateful

"Did you hear about how the number of cases increased?" Rudy asked.

I look up at him as he hands me the joint.

Back to reality

Covid-19

"Yeah, over three thousand deaths now," I reply. "Probably way over that too."

"Hey, not many here, though," Rudy says, putting a thumbs up. "Only the old people, so that's a tad bit heartwarming."

I let out a sigh.

There's nothing heartwarming about people unexpectedly dying.

Even if we aren't involved at the moment.

I start to feel that my brain is finally at a calm enough place to deal with the angry society of New Hampshire for the day, so I leave the joint for Rudy to finish and head on my way.

The phone starts ringing when I'm back to the kitchen side, and front counter aroma.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

It is a lovely night at 9 o'clock, and the sun has finally fully set. This means the rush has died, and the older customers are ready for bed.

The only orders left are a few Door Dashes, but they still need to assign a driver, so I have some time to spare. I take the opportunity to get in a smoke break and head outside for my first cigarette of the night. We were surprisingly busy throughout the night, so it helped me cut back on my nicotine and tobacco intake.

Of course, once we have a virus that infects the lungs, I take up chain-smoking again.

These are not intelligent options.

"Wish I had just stuck with the vape," I mumble to myself, putting on my jacket and heading toward the door.

The shape of our whole facility is peculiar all in itself. To enter the building, you have to go through the doors that open to the bar side, where then there's an open space to the left where you'd enter the food side, Sampson's Pizza and Subs. Not sure how the name came to be, but no one else could come up with a better name, so it stuck. The whole setup of the food side could be a lot better. The kitchen needs more space. My coworkers and I consistently run into each other. As well as there being no ventilation. The number of times customers questions why it's "foggy" is beyond my stoner brain's ability to remember.

Another pain in the ass concept of this building structure is that for myself or my fellow kitchen crew to get out to the customers, other than serving over the counter, we have to walk around the back, go entirely through the bar and then meet them at the doorway that leads into the pizza side. There's no straightforward way to escape my barricaded cashier cage without passing through the pile of alcoholics filling our beer-infested dance floors.

More like cranberry juice and vodka.

Sometimes, I question how the bartenders here can continuously do it. The people of the planet are either going to their jobs and then partying after, not partying at all, or partying is their job. Then there are the badasses, too, who do the double jobs. So, when one of the two gives you money to party, who can blame them?

As for myself, I'm the go to work and then party after. The benefit is, having the ability to keep my work and party life separate so I can continue to save as much money as possible, as well as not fuck myself over in the getting too close to colleagues departments.

I don't know.

I feel that this is not the place to do it.

As for saving, though, I want to be able to attend a school and be presented with some form of accomplishment someday.

Then, I can finally be proud of myself.

Plus, since graduating high school in 2018, I have relived the heartbreak of college acceptance emails but not being able to afford them quite often. So, I spend most of my days working for the money and giving myself the gift of a possible day at a university.

I decide on the smoking spot out the door in the back of the kitchen as the bar starts to pile with its usual Thursday night customers. "You heading out for a smoke, Cher?" I hear Rudy ask as I pass him. He's in the middle of making a pizza and continues throwing the enlarged flat circle of dough to try and add more power to our view of his pizza-making capabilities. Ma rolls her eyes, standing on the other side of the kitchen facing him while finishing up her list of subs to make. Max eyes Rudy suspiciously and does his usual grunt that he's known for having. I'll admit, Max is known for quite a lot of things. One of the foremost is when he howls. I mean, like a coyote, howl. We're unsure if it's due to something mental, but it's been quite often the last few months. I'm surprised no one's fired him yet. Luckily, everyone's just more concerned at the moment. Besides Matthew, though. He's always had something out for the guy.

"Yeah, sounds good," I reply. "I'm going out right now, though," I state, continuing towards the door.

Once I've hit the entrance, I feel the cool, ever-so-breezy air announcing its transition from winter to spring. It's usually daytime; you notice it the most, but when working the p.m. shift, you start to see the changes in everything—like the timing of the sunsets. The temperature varies from afternoon to evening. The number of people outdoors is increasing due to feeling more comfortable and no need to wrap themselves in six layers to take four off right once they step inside a building.

That's New England for you.

For more than half of the year, you are fucking freezing.

I hear the door creak open behind me, and Rudy joins, getting out his pack and lighter. "Busy night. Oh, what a busy night." Rudy rhythmically sings to himself. "Getting those sales in today, huh, Cher Bear?" Rudy says, raising his hand for a high five.

Cher Bear?

I fucking swear...

I roll my eyes and raise my hand to high-five the lengthy, tall blonde guy. He's genuinely one of the weirdest of the crew so far. Not in an obscure way, but more peculiar and weirdly strange.

I know he's hit on younger women, too, so it's always something to keep in mind.

Rudy shakes his head as if displeased, not meeting the goals of gold-worthy high-five standards. "What?" I ask, blowing my cigarette smoke in the opposing direction. "Nothing.." He signed. "Eh, I mean. We've gotta work on that."

"My high five?" I question. "I mean, I'm bad with bouncing back a bit. It's like a physical thing, and I can be jumpy. Wait... or would that be a mental-to-physical reaction?" My ADD self stammers.

Rudy laughs in response to my response.

Cause, for some reason, all my responses are funny?

For christ sakes

"No." He continues laughing. "Don't worry, Cher. Like I said, we've gotta work on it." Rudy says before tossing his cigarette and heading back inside.

Even though he's gone, I still respond with my typical eye roll. I take a few more puffs of my cigarette before burning it out.

"What the fuck am I doing with my life?" I huff and enter back into the kitchen.