A/N: My first note! First of all, I'm soooo sorry about how long it has taken me to update, but now it's summer and I have the story finally mapped out so hopefully updates will come much sooner! Thank you to everyone who has reviewed! Know that the idea for this chapter was inspired by my friend Ethiwen and without her and The Versatile Scarf this story would have died a very painful death. A break from Angst, this chapter is a lot lighter than the others, but much longer. Rent doesn't mine. Now on with the story!
I hated my boss.
The gleaming linoleum of the Scarsdale SuperMart's Aisle 3 was, after a painstaking 25 minutes of Roger's toil, clear of any residual liquid fabric softener that had been dumped upon the floor by bored hooligans.
Two months. Two months working at this hell that was a one stop shop for all your personal, hygienic, physical and mental needs. Finally, Roger could feel himself beginning to crack.
The slow torture had started with his "identification jumper". A plastic vest adorned with a large name tag reading "Hi, my name is Roger, how can I help you today?" and countless pieces of "flair", or, pins meant to show Roger's personality. He had no clue what was on them and was therefore surprised whenever he received whistles for a "Support Gay Marriage!" rainbow pin, or a magnetism for nerds when he affixed a "May the Force be with you" icon to his vinyl instrument of self induced terror.
The next element in line to destroy any last shred of his dignity was the dreaded P.A. system. The tinny voice of the salesclerk was consistently ordering him about to the far reaches of the store to clean this or re-stock that. As a new recruit Roger could only hope to dream of one day holding the cushy job at the register, sending inferiors to do the dirty work. But just out of highschool and no more than two months under his belt he could do nothing but attend to every whim of his boss.
His boss. Come from the far reaches of hell (also known as the local community college) his employer, Francis Brown had found college to be a little too big for him and had returned to the smaller pond of Scarsdale for the opportunity to torment the unfortunate few- i.e. Roger.
"Davis you stocked these cans of beans wrong"
"How can you stock beans wrong? They're on the shelf aren't they?"
"Yes, but they're not in alphabetical order. Didn't you read your training manual? Chapter Six it states 'In order to increase efficiency to benefit shoppers all like items will be stock in alphabetical order beginning with the first letter closest to the top of the aisle. You do know how to order alphabetically right? I mean, you paid attention in school enough to learn at least that?"
Roger thought back to the heavy tome collecting dust in the bottom of his closet. He had counted the chapters (25) and decided to save it for fire kindling.
Scowling at Mr. Brown Roger retorted sarcastically that no, he had not learned the alphabet while at school. His employer was not amused.
"Probation Davis. And you better learn your letters before stocking one of my shelves again."
Mr Brown was obsessed with his power (little though it might be) and Roger hated him for it.
The day was not a good day for Roger. No sooner had he returned the mop he had been using for Aisle 3 to the closet than a mother burdened with several loud children accosted him.
"Where are the Q-tips?" she demanded angrily, apparently having been searching for some time.
Roger glanced up at the display of a pyramid of Q-tip boxes behind her. The sign atop read in large white block letters "Q-tip sale: 3 boxes for $2!"
"Aisle 1, between the shampoo and hair coloring kits. Can't miss 'em" Roger answered, forcibly unclenching his teeth. The woman bustled off without a thank you.
He was tired, had a headache and his favorite pants were smeared with blue liquid fabric softener. Sensing weakness Mr. Brown bustled up to Roger.
"Why are you just standing there? Find something to do!"
"I was just helping-"
"Do I look like I care? No! You know, you've been a real layabout since I hired you. I thought putting you on probation would push you to be more passionate about work, make you want to shine. You haven't been named employee of the week once! You never-"
But what else Roger never did he would never know. His headache had been growing steadily worse and Mr. Brown's annoying nasal voice was boring into his head like a drill only to be broken by a tinny voice announcing "Clean-up on Aisle 5"
"Fuck Aisle 5!" Roger screamed.
An hour later Roger climbed into the passenger seat of the Cohen station wagon. Mark had received it as a graduation present. Roger had gotten his stuff collected in trashbags and a locked door.
Mark glanced over at his best friend. "Where's the vinyl?" he asked jokingly. Met with a glare his face fell. "You got fired didn't you?"
"I hate him" Roger muttered darkly, considering possible means of getting Mr. Brown fired. None came to mind.
"Sure you do," Mark told Roger easily, pulling onto the main street. "But now that you don't have to work Friday you can do that gig at CBGBs you were promised with the Hungarians."
"Oh-yeah…." Maybe Roger didn't hate his boss that much after all.
A/N: Sorry it wasn't very angsty. The term "flaire" I borrowed from the movie Office Space. The rest of the story is going to be much darker. Promise.
