​     After she'd finished with the chickens, her next job was washing dishes, of which there were hundreds. No one else washed the dishes unless they absolutely had to. So, stacks of dishes. The hardest things to wash: the metal prongs that held those damned chicken roasters upright. Crusted with bits of chicken bits and chicken grease, it'd take Kate ten minutes to scrub each one clean. Still, Katy had to admit, this was the part of the minimum wage crappy job she liked best, doing the dishes. She could be alone with her thoughts. There, with just her and the too stringent detergent and the too hot spray of water, she could let her mind drift to memories of the precious few times from her childhood when she felt happy and even fewer wildly loving nights with men. On this day, however...

​     "Katy! Katy!"

​     "What?" Katy turned off the water nozzle. "What do you need?" Just by the way they were screaming her name, she knew it couldn't be anything good. 

     "Kribling's in the dining area! He went and got sick again!"

     No. Oh no, please. Kribley was a young man with mental health issues, which was fine. The way Katy figured it, if you're going to claim that you truly love humanity, you have to accept the fact that some of the people were going to be just...you know...anyway...

​     Problem?

​     Kribley's particular mental issues involved (1) being slightly retarded, (2) feeling the need to vomit whenever he got in a public place, and (3) being a malicious asshole. Unfortunately for Katy, one of his favorite places to upchuck was in the dining area of the Sunny Days deli, which meant that, twice a week, on the average, she'd have to grab the mop and disinfectant to go out and clean up after Dougy Kribley, and quick so that the general public wouldn't have to see it or smell it for long. 

     "Please...Please..." Under no circumstances did she want to deal with a Dougy Kribley episode right then. But there was no way out of it. Certainly no one else in the deli would have anything to do with it. The eating area of the deli was Katy's responsibility, so therefore it was her problem.  

     Damn it, just get it over with, she scolded herself. Just do it! Do it! 

     So, less than minute later, there she was, out in the dining area, first hitting the mess with the chemical sand that turned the vomit into little mounds like puppy turds, then sweeping it all up into a special biohazard bag, then mopping the floor with the disinfectant until the floor was once again spotless. Dougy and his mom watched the entire time. Dougy had a weird, half smile on his face. He was enjoying himself. Obviously, he loved to watch people, Katy especially, clean up after him. In fact, it looked like he was getting ready to do it again. right there in front of everybody. She heard him making his own stomach heave, heard him purposely gag, to make more puke come out. "Ugh. Ugh." And the smile never left his face. "Ugh. Ugh."

     Okay, that does it, Katy thought. I've had enough. 

     She wasn't even completely done mopping yet. She had the yellow, plastic CAUTION! SLIPPERY WHEN WET! signs up so that no one would slip and sue, and, while she waited for the floor to dry, she asked, "You're not planning to get sick again, are you?"

     More with the smiling. More with the, "Ugh. Ugh."

​     Ignoring him, Katy said to Dougy's mother, "Listen, you really are going to have to take him outside if he's going to do that. He's disturbing our other guests."

​     Katy never saw Dougy unless he had his mother at his side. Dougy was a big one, well over six feet tall and as thick and sloppy as a plastic garbage bag filled with goo. His mom was half his size and always wildly overdressed, as in always wearing two or three layers of clothing, along with a heavy coat, a huge, flowery hat for her head, and thick red and white make-up. And now, her lacquered face contorted with indignation, she asked, "What did you just say?"

​     "I...I..." Katy knew, in that moment, that her job was on the line. One ill thought out response from her, and this woman, this Mrs. Kribley, would go right to the highest levels of management to complain, and everything would roll downhill from there. Katy could just hear her P.I.C. telling her, "Our customers are at the core of everything we do here at Sunny Days, Katy! Without them, none of us would even have jobs. This complaint has given our division a very bad eye, and I can't have that. I have to tell you, Katy. I've always had a problem with your attitude. I can't, in good conscience, describe you as a team player. You don't wear your cap and vest with pride. You never bring a dish to any of the monthly potlucks. Part of my job as a P.I.C. is to help my employees rise in the ranks. My hope is that one day you will be P.I.C.s yourselves, and yet...when I think of you...What am I missing here, Katy? How's your life at home? Could that be affecting your attitude here at work...because I have to tell you...if things continue the way they are..."

     And she wouldn't even have to finish the sentence, not that she ever finished that last sentence the three or four times Katy's P.I.C. had given her this lecture in the nearly six months Katy had worked at Sunny Days. It was a threat. What Jocelyn always meant when she said that was that Katy was right on the edge of losing her job so that she wouldn't have enough money to keep her crappy apartment with the crappy roommate who hated Katy and never liked it when Katy was home. She'd be homeless was what she'd be if she lost this job so...so..

     Mrs. Kribley asked the question again, this time with her hands planted firmly on her hips and an angry expression on her face. "My dear, I just asked you a question, and I demand an answer. WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY TO ME?

     Katy took her attention away from the mopping long enough to look Mrs. Kribley full in the eye. 

     "Fuck you," she replied. 

CONTINUE