Jmart is a breathing ground for customers with piss poor attitudes. Craig thinks it as he talks down an angry, older woman demanding that she have a refund. Kenny stands to the side, looking almost scared. Like this woman will come and murder him with his purse.
"We don't give refunds on this," Craig repeats himself for the upteenth time. He keeps his demeanor calm. Cool and chilly, apathetic. The woman's face is flushed red, her hands curled around a shopping cart. Wrinkled and leathery.
Craig cannot fathom why she wants to return a box of condoms that has been partially opened. Can't understand why anyone would think that this is ok to return after it's been tampered with. Can't comprehend why a woman her age really needs them. He lets out a sigh, and finally puts a goddamn foot down.
"Listen. We can't take this back. It's been tampered with. Please leave, there is nothing I can do for you." The woman's brow furrows at this. And Craig can see that she's pissed.
The woman yells at him for a whole ten minutes about how she's calling in a complaint. How she can't believe he's the manager. Blah blah blah.
When she's done, stormed off out of the store with the purse Kenny was so petrified of having his skull bashed in with. Craig turns to Kenny, flips him off. Then walks back to his office.
Another day, another dollar earned. But was the compensation for such a shit job really worth it?
Craig rubs his temples. Lets a sigh escape his lips and looks over at the time. Just one more hour of this shit. Then he can be safe in the confines of his apartment. Can sink into steaming hot water poured into his bath.
There is a knock on his door and Craig's attention goes from looking down at the schedule to Stan Marsh's peeking his head in. His full body comes into view as Craig looks to him. He's got his hands stuffed into his pockets, an apron with blood stains littering what used to be pure white. A hair net guarding his black hair with one headphone stuffed into his ear.
"I'm going home, dude." Stan informs Craig. Craig blinks at him, checks his watch, then the schedule. It's 8 PM. Right. End of his shift.
"Ok. Why are you telling me?" Craig pries. He's really not interested, it's just strange that Stan is letting him know. He doesn't have to consult Craig of his departure. They have an electronic system that lets you clock in and out.
"Because Kenny just disappeared or whatever, man. You're under staffed." Stan shrugs as he says, moving his arms as to show his apathy towards the situation. Craig lets out an annoyed sigh.
"Whatever. Get out of my office." Craig retorts sharply. Stan blinks at him, rolls his eyes.
"Christ, you're rude as fuck." And with a swift closing of the door—not quite slamming but not gently; Stan leaves. Craig sits in the dim lighting of the office, puts his head in his hands. Lets out a groan. And decides he'll cover for Kenny.
By the time Craig gets home his legs ache, it's late and he doesn't quite know how he makes it to his third floor apartment. He's tired. Tired all over. And at this point he wants to go to his bed and collapse.
As he steps in he's greeted by Clyde with Butters sitting next to him. Butters is huddled up in a blanket, eyes glued to the screen of the tv that plays reruns of Terrance and Phillip. Craig does not question this nor humor it; opts to walk straight to his bedroom and passed the two without a hello.
Sleep. That's all he can think of. Craig still checks his phone—more out of habit at this point. A few Facebook notifications and a few tumblr reblogs. A text from a number Craig doesn't recognize. He opens it up, the gray box with black text is what he sees.
Unknown
I forgot what time my shift is tmmrw
Craig reads that, over and over as if it doesn't quite register with him. He knows this is one of his employees but he can't fathom why they think he has their number saved.
Craig
Ok. But who is this?
Craig lays back on his bed. Lets himself sink into the comfort of his pillow and blankets. He's drifting off, eyelids low, lashes kissing the apples of his tan cheeks.
But then his phone makes a "ding!" to signal the arrival of a new text. Craig forces his eyes open to check this, peeved.
Unknown
Stan.
Craig lets out a long suffering sigh. He wants to say he fucking hates Stan, but their rivalry mostly dwindled after middle school. Craig just didn't have the energy to keep a resentment towards him. But that doesn't mean he likes him, just tolerates him.
Craig
2PM-7PM
Craig puts his phone down, expects this to be the last time they text unless something is needed. He squeezes his eyes shut now.
The sunlight filters in through Craig's blinds. It tickles his face, and he scratches where the sliver of heat is shining on him.
With a yawn, Craig stretches his body out from the sleep, the tired. He just wants to lay here. He can, he has off. So Craig closes his eyes again, grabs his phone of his night stand. Burrows himself into his blankets.
Under the confines and warmth of his comforter Craig checks his phone. The first thing he sees is that Stan texted him. He lets a sigh escape him at what he reads.
Stan
I need off
Is he fucking serious? Craig's brows furrow and he lets out a groan. He's not even the shift manager today and it pisses him off.
Craig
Why?
Stan
You want the truth or a lie
Craig wants to chuck his phone across the room in frustration. He can feel his ears getting heated, they always do when he's angry. He doesn't get angry anymore, though. He doesn't lose control of his emotions. So he takes a deep breath.
Craig
The truth
Stan
Sick. Binge watching MCU.
Deep breath. Deep breath.
Craig
MCU? What's an MCU?
Stan
Are you serious? Marvel cinematic universe?
Only the best film franchise in existence, man.
Craig blinks in confusion. He's not angry, he's evened his breathing. Has gathered the control he needed. He stares at his phone with blank eyes and types out a response.
Craig
Like superhero's?
Yk I don't care abt super hero's.
And it's true, he doesn't. Craig is sci fi and fantasy. He remembers dressing up as super Craig, remembers not really getting into the character. He also remembers dressing up as feldspar, spaceman Craig. Those were things he liked, characters he designed for his own desire. Super Craig was more from being asked to do so.
Stan should know as he was there clad in his father tools.
Stan
Neither did my mom, but now she loves RDjr.
What the fuck.
Craig
Idk what an RDjr is
It's honest. He's not even sure how to comprehend what those jumble of letters are supposed to mean.
Stan
Robert Downey Jr, the actor? Look dude, just come over. You can join me.
Craig
You're not going to get me stuck in Peru again, are you?
Stan
No man. Trust me. I have popcorn and whatever drinks you'd like.
Craig
...ok
Craig puts his phone down. Looks to the ceiling. It's barren, plain white. Like the entirety of his room. Boring. Like most else in his life.
He likes it that way. It's safe that way.
He'll humor Stan.
But as soon as he tries to do something like get him sent to the moon, he's out. With that boundary set on Craig's mind, he gets up, gets dressed. Makes his way out of his apartment door, passed Butters and Clyde who are tangled up together on the couch. Down the stairs and to his car.