My story starts on the first day of my new job. I was there on my 3-7 pm shift and was just sweeping up the remains of a broken coffee pot so I could leave, when a lady, decked out from head to toe in fur, stepped up to the register. I guessed her to be middle-aged, maybe about 35 or so. Her chestnut brown hair was pulled pack at the base of her neck in a small bun that seemed like she had used an entire can of hair spray to keep it from releasing a single hair. I noticed that she was toting a small dog with her on a leash; one of those white fluffy things rich ladies carry in their handbags and call them muffins and all sorts of goofy names that you would think would embarrass the poor dog (which is usually as decked out as much as their owner is in those itty bitty dog clothes with rhinestones stuck all over them).

Impatiently she rang the bell at the front of the counter (I absolutely hate that bell, Its one of those ones with a high-pitched ring that you can hear all over the room). "May I help you?" I asked politely, eager to close up and go home so I could finally rest my feet a little. "A mocha cream espresso," she snapped, "and make it snappy".

As I went to get her order, my boss, Mr. Pashinka, stepped out of the back room. "Olive!" he shouted, "So good to see you!"

"Henry! I havent seen you in forever. How are the kids?" she said, glancing at the overfilling mocha cream in my hand. I had completely forgot to stop the machine after the cup was full (I was wondering if the fur on her dog was real, or if it was a dog wig or something). Hastily I wiped the coffee off my hand and placed the cup in front of her. "Three twenty five please." She handed me a ten-dollar bill. "Keep the change," she said, reminding me of some of the snobbier girls in my school that always wore Abercrombie and expensive high heels.

I forced a smile to my lips (one of those that you give your grandmother after she gives you underwear for Christmas…again). "Suze," Mr. Pashinka began, "why don't you go clean up the back room?"

I pushed back a groan as I dumped the remains of the coffee pot in to the little garbage can behind the counter. I turned the corner and pushed open the door that led to the storage room. I glanced around the room. It seemed clean to me; nothing was out of place, nothing on the floor. Pretty organized too.

I headed back out the door and grabbed my coat from the little hook on the wall ( Yes, yes I know. Your all mad at me for working somewhere where I don't have a cubby, but hey, a jobs a job). I was about to leave when I heard two hushed voices coming from Mr. Pashinka's office.

I pressed my ear against the wood gingerly, I've had bad luck with wood and I was so not getting another splinter. Okay, so i'm nosy. Bite me. I've done worse things in my life.

I could just make out their voices from the sounds of the rush-hour traffic on the street. "What are you going to do about him?" a voice i decided was Mr. P's said. Olive's reply was interrupted by an on coming four door sedan, rambling down the road at 100 MPH. "I see," he said with a dissapointed tone. They said some other things that were totally inaudible before I heard footsteps coming towards the door. I had just enough time to hide under the counter, when Mr. P and "Olive" stepped through the doorway. I pretended to search for the back of my earring.