c. 2024 Rod Ice
All rights reserved
(7-24)
When Hagreb Tonta had finished checking in with the opening manager at store 6609, he felt a sense of relief. All of their duties had been accomplished on the overnight shift, and now finally, it was time to go home. He gathered his soft-sided cooler, work tools, printed notes from their company intranet, and headed toward the front entrance with satisfaction causing his pulse to quicken. Every morning, this moment of liberation made him give thanks to God. Though he called upon that deity with a name that was not familiar to anyone else on the crew.
He pondered for a moment on the curb outside, lingering under a blue sky dotted with decorative clouds. Then, turned toward the employee parking lot, which was on the north side of their store. He strode briskly toward his Geo Metro, with thoughts of saving enough money to buy a newer, better vehicle. Something he hadn’t yet been able to accomplish despite years of service to his employer.
Shock and confusion made him stiffen, as his eyes fell upon the sight of Jimmy Speck, waiting by the battered, red economy sedan. The tubby, tattooed kid had duct tape wrapped around his fists, like a crude street fighter preparing for combat.
“HEY HAGGOT! DID YOU KISS THE GENERAL MANAGER’S ASS GOODBYE? I BET HE LOOKS FORWARD TO THAT SHIT, EVERY DAY! GOOD JOB GIVING HIM A KNOB-JOB!”
The grocery-team captain started a slow burn. He simply wanted to get in his smallish sedan, and go home. Any sort of delay seemed pointless.
“James, please move away from my driver’s door. We’re done for the night, go home and get your dinner. I’m hungry for something out of the microwave. Or maybe I’ll hit the Taco Bell drive-thru on my way home!”
Jimmy punched a dent in the side of the rattlebox car.
“SCREW GETTING GRUB, I’M GONNA CHEW ON YOUR SCRAWNY ASS!”
He jabbed a fist directly into the immigrant exile’s face. Beard stubble ground against his bare knuckles. The strike sent his work leader to the ground with a groan and a thud. He rubbed his jaw and cursed in a foreign tongue.
“Get out of here, James! Don’t you know there are cameras on the light poles? Think about your job, do you want to get fired? Security is 24/7!”
The young underling laughed and raised his middle finger. He was dirty and sweaty after a night of stocking shelves and pulling heavy pallets onto the sales floor.
“YOU NEED A BOOT IN THE TEETH, HAGGOT! I BET YOU SET OUR ASSES UP WITH THOSE CORRECTIVE NOTICES! MODAFACKA! I GET IT, YOU GOTTA SLOBBER OVER A STIFFIE TO KEEP THE DAYTIME DICKS HAPPY! BUT THAT DON’T DO SHIT FOR US! WE JUST GET WHACKED WITH WRITE-UPS UNTIL OUR HOURS ARE CUT! I NEED MORE MONEY NOT LESS, GAWDAMM IT!”
The rebellious kid kicked hard at his boss on the ground. Blood trickled from his mouth, as he rolled sideways, to protect himself.
“James! They’ll be calling the police, don’t you get it? Walk away, and I’ll forget you made such a foolish, ignorant mistake. Let’s put this behind us...”
From the store lobby, shouts of concern began to echo. Co-Manager Cardamon Riffe had quickly assembled a detail of employees, pulled from various departments. His blue necktie flapped in the wind as they ran toward the segregated parking area, pleading for attention.
“Speck, what the hell are you doing? Did Hagreb fall or something? Are you giving him first aid? Is he injured? Are you trained in CPR?”
The victimized crew head lied through broken teeth.
“Yes, yes, that’s it. I stumbled on the way to my car. There were loose stones by the door...”
Cardamon raised an eyebrow.
“Loose stones? Out here on the asphalt?”
Vicki Realti, who was a coordinator on the front end, shook her head and hissed with disagreement. Her ponytail flipped from left to right. She was the third generation in her family to have chosen the supermarket industry as a lifetime career.
“I saw it on a security monitor in the cash office! This overgrown goof smacked him right in the chops! Nice work, kiddo! The big cheese will be sending you home for good! What were you thinking?”
Hagreb tried to wave off the disciplinary action.
“No, no, I don’t want him to get terminated. He’s just a boy, in his 20’s I think. I remember being that age, not long ago. You make bad decisions sometimes. Let him work out a three-day suspension maybe, a slap on the wrist. The union will lobby on his behalf...”
Vicki stomped her foot and scowled like a schoolmarm.
“HEYY! THERE’S NO SUSPENSION IN THE CONTRACT FOR HITTING YOUR TEAM LEAD! THIS FATASS SFIGATO IS TOAST! HE’S A LOSER LIKE HIS DAD, I REMEMBER THAT GUY FROM RINI-REGO! HE DIDN’T LAST A MONTH!”
Cardamon straightened his shirt collar, and his gold badge.
“You hit him in the mouth, Speck? Really? Right out in plain sight of everyone?”
Jimmy felt his hands turn cold. He slouched against a white minivan next to the parked Geo automobile.
“Which one of us are you gonna believe, Mr. Riffe? Me or this brown bum from who knows where? He looks like somebody who ought to be filling two-liter bottles of Pepsi in a convenience store! A bug-eyed freak!”
Hagreb managed to get back on his feet by leveraging himself against the side of his car.
“Let it go, I won’t sign a report or press charges. He’s a stupid child, we’ve all been there. Let it go, let it go. I’m not hurt all that much...”
Vicki cursed in Italian, and gestured wildly.
“Fa cagare! That’s a load of crap! You wanna forget about getting a mule kick, laying on the ground? Hah! It’s on the tape now, the union won’t cover him when they see the evidence! He’s done here, bye, bye, kiddo!”
Cardamon narrowed his eyes.
“Don’t bother reporting for work again tonight. I’m going to call the UFCW business agent. This was your last screw-up, Speck! Your folder was already full of bad paper. We’ll clean out your locker. Get off the premises! You’re done!”
Jimmy flexed his muscular arms and muttered oaths of revenge, while walking back to his own vehicle. It was a Chevy Silverado, with a lift-kit, chrome accessories, and oversized tires.
“SEE YOU BACK AT THE TRAILER PARK, HAGGOT! MY DAD WILL HAVE PLENTY TO SAY WHEN YOU GET HOME! PLAN ON GETTING ANOTHER ASS WHIPPING!”
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