Drabble # 21: Yesterday's Gone
Disclaimer: S. Meyer owns Twilight.
~ oOo ~
Mr. Dean Cranston rubbed his balding pate. Where was Quil? It was 8:10; he was late again. His grey eyes were turning darker by the minute, the storm clouds threatening to erupt inside them. Dean liked Quil; he really did. He was a good worker too, but this was the second occurrence this week. And so he stood beside the time clock with his arms crossed in front of his barrel chest.
Embry was already working on replacing brake pads on a truck that was left there last evening. He looked up from his task and saw the boss standing there with his face frozen in a scowl. Quil wouldn't be late if Embry had picked him up, but he had to drop his two cousins off at school first. Besides, Quil was a big boy; he could get himself to work.
Quil's motorcycle roared into the parking lot. He entered the huge garage. All the other employees were elbow deep in grease and auto parts. Uh-oh, late again, and crap, there was Dean staring at him as he arrived.
"Ateara," he bellowed. "Do you know what time it is?"
Quil shifted his weight nervously. "Uh—yes, sir. Sorry, sir."
Dean was in his face, the scent of his Big Red chewing gum, blowing into Quil's sensitive nostrils. "Yes, sleeping beauty, it's 8:10. And what time does your shift start?"
Retreating a few inches, Quil tried to avoid the shower of spit as the boss continued his emotionally charged lecture. "8:00, sir," he answered sheepishly.
"That's right. Now, either you get here on time from now on, or adios, Atreara. You got that?"
"Yes, sir."
Dean, walked away, muttering, "See that you do it, then!"
Punching in quickly, he rushed to his friend's side.
Embry handed him a wrench. "Damn, what's the matter with you? Don't you want this job anymore? You're gonna get yourself canned."
"I couldn't help it," he explained. "I have a tough time getting up in the morning."
~ oOo ~
Earlier that same morning
The alarm went off—buzz, buzz, buzz! Quil's long arm reached over and pressed the snooze button. He had drifted into peaceful oblivion once more, when the buzzer alarmed again. He was not a morning person, so the snooze button got another punch. He was on route to dreamland for the third time.
On the next buzz, Quil grabbed the clock and pitched it across the room. It splintered into a thousand pieces. The clatter as it fell to the floor finally woke him enough so that he realized what he had done. Oh, hell, another alarm clock smashed to smithereens. Well at least this one lasted a couple of weeks. Leaving the broken pieces where they lay, he jumped in the shower and shaved. Then he pulled on some clothes, and snatched two granola bars from the kitchen. Some breakfast—he'd be starving by noon.
Hopping on his motorcycle, he thundered down the road to his work site—The Rod Shop. Of course he hit every red light on the planet. Crap, there was no way in hell to make it there by 8:00.
~ oOo ~
5:40 that same day
On the way back from work, he stopped at the store to buy another—cheap—alarm clock. He didn't want to be late again, so he set the alarm and hit the sack early.
Morning dawned, and Quil unbelievably slept through the alarm. When he finally awoke, it was dark outside. What a loooong night. So, confused, he lay his head back down on the pillow and feel asleep.
With light streaming through his bedroom window, he hopped out of bed and got ready for work.
He arrived at the garage five minutes early only to have Dean yell, "I warned you. You're fired!"
Quil's mouth dropped open. "What are you talking about? It's only 7:55."
"Yeah, today. But where were you yesterday?"