by Adam Knight
“You’re in tomorrow?” David asked in his deep chested voice. “Gonna be a crazy night. Penguins are in town to take on the Jets. Some of the players are expected to show up after the game.”
“So long as they show up to play on the ice, I’ll be happy,” I muttered.
“What?”
“I’ll be here. Don’t worry.”
“Never said I was worried,” David continued as we followed the last of the stragglers to the front steps. The cold air refreshed my tired, sweat soaked body. “Gonna be a big night. Don’t wanna miss out on the fun.”
“Yay. Fun.” I muttered.
Once all the patrons were safely (and occasionally not-so-safely) escorted outside the usual closing rituals began. The younger bouncers started bragging in wild exaggerated tones about the size of some chicks’ breasts, or the manner in which they “showed that guy who’s boss”. Bartenders and waitresses frantically went over their liquor counts and cash receipts, overages were almost as bad as shortages at the end of the night. Small groups of young ladies flirted with a few of the men left in the VIP section near the front, the one section never ushered out the door. Aaron and the off-duty officers hovered in that area, laughing amongst themselves and sharing a few drinks.
I ignored them all. I pulled out a stool off to the side and sat down to wait.
Mark sauntered over twenty minutes later, leaning against the wall next to me. “So,” he muttered so only I could hear. “What do you think?”
I shrugged slightly and inclined my chin to the main bar. A number of the younger bouncers were talking loudly and pestering the bartenders for free drinks while they were trying to finish their counts.
“Which one of them was on the VIP Door?”
Mark pulled a notebook out of his back pocket and examined it. “The blond kid. Danny.”
“He’s gotta go.”
“Yeah?”
“That crew of Native Posse thugs I pointed out to you never got in the main entrance. Cameras and metal detectors woulda stopped them.”
“Shit.” Mark shook his head. “Nothing actually happened man. We can tell Aasif, have him warn the kid.”
I shrugged. “Aaron doesn’t want trouble in here. Gangs are trouble. The kid went into business for himself and it coulda got someone shot.” I looked Mark hard in the eye. “You getting paid enough to get shot?”
“Fuck no.”
“Then the kid’s gotta go.”
Mark was silent for a bit, the noises of the club shutting down for the night slowly petering out. One of the gentlemen in VIP in a fancy suit was being led up the staircase by two young ladies with big smiles and sensual promises on their lips. Aaron trotted behind the champagne bar and grabbed a bottle before following them up.
“How’s your mom?” Mark asked.
“Same.”
“Sucks.”
“Yup.”
“Anything I can do?”
“Nope.”
“Sucks.”
I yawned hugely, my jaws creaking.
Eventually Aasif came down from the bar office with a packed envelope in one hand and motioned us over to the VIP section. In no particular hurry I heaved my tired ass off the stool and let Mark, David, Big Mike and a few others get in line before me.
Ten minutes later I was out the door, cash in my pocket and hustling home.
Chapter 2
“We need to talk about your attitude in the workplace, Joseph.”
I sighed and sat down in the uncomfortable chair proffered to me in the sterile meeting room. Troy shut the door behind him and took a seat across the table from me, placing a folder in between us.
Silence.
Uncomfortable silence.
I stifled a yawn.
Troy shuffled in his seat nervously. All of twenty-seven years old and a soft hundred and fifty-ish pounds of corporate kiss-ass middle-manager. Troy was the low man on the supervisor totem pole. First guy to be sent by the big boss to have “educational meetings with problem staff.”
Shape up or ship out kinda educational meetings.
I almost felt bad for him.
Troy cleared his throat and adjusted his wire-rimmed glasses as he opened the folder in front of him. “Tardiness on weekend shifts. General disheveled appearance and demeanor. Disrespectful attitude displayed to other staff members.” Troy leaned back in his chair and looked me in the eyes. “Tell me, Joseph. Does this sound like appropriate behavior in the workplace to you?”
My teeth ground together audibly as I stifled another yawn. Six A.M. comes way too early on Saturday mornings after the bar shifts. As it was my alarm clock failed me again and I stumbled into the office twenty minutes late. Three hours sleep and a twenty hour day ahead of me.
Welcome to my life.
“It doesn’t sound like appropriate behavior to me, Joseph.” Troy said, shuffling the papers on my desk and no longer looking me in the eye. “I have here a number of different memos from several managers and staff members who have brought up issues regarding you. Everything from clerical errors that cost the company money, repeated equipment malfunctions and reports of intimidation.” He paused dramatically, spreading these reports on the table in front of me like a deck of cards. Pick a memo, any memo. “Why do you think these reports keep coming up, Joseph?”
“My mother calls me, Joseph,” I muttered.
“Hmm?”
I shook my head briefly, clenching my teeth on another yawn.
More silence.
“Well Joseph, here at Canada-Pharm we have very high standards that are expected from all of our employees. Not just the ones who feel like meeting those standards.”
I contemplated bashing my skull off the table in front of me as the too bright halogen lights flickered overhead.
“However we are sensitive to the pressures you are going through off-site, Joseph.” Troy laced his fingers together and leaned forward against the table, classic manager school comforting and understanding pose. Inviting employees to meet them halfway and open up about their problems. “Canada-Pharm is more than just an internet pharmacy, we try to be a family to our staff. There are many different counseling options available to you if you want to talk to someone. Also, financial advisors are available if you need help with your bills.”
I snorted.
“Yes, Joseph?”
“If Canada-Pharm really wanted to help with my bills the CEO would jump off his wallet and share some of the millions in profit he makes every quarter.”
Troy blinked in surprise and leaned back in his chair. “The wage provided to Telephone Service Representatives meets industry standards.”
“Wouldn’t you like to make more than forty thousand a year, Troy?”
Troy blinked.
“Would be easy to do, just have a more incentive based system in place for employees. Give them a reason to work hard.”
Troy cleared his throat. “The reason we’re here is to discuss your attitude, Joseph. Not to debate the compensation packages provided by the company.”
I sighed again and rubbed at my weary eyes. “Just tell me what you want to hear, man. I’m tired and have work to do.”
Roughly half an hour and a cajoled promise to “try and be a more positive employee” later, I meandered my way like a mouse in its maze back through the cubicle farm that was the main floor of Canada-Pharm HQ.
While the Internet Pharmacy boom had died off significantly after Obamacare became viable in the United States, there was still a solid market for Americans looking to save money on their medication. Thankfully the Canadian healthcare system wasn’t quite as corrupt as the one operated at arm’s length by the pharmaceutical companies bribing their way to affluence south of the forty-ninth parallel. As such, companies like Canada-Pharm were able to take prescriptions online to help save people a few bucks on their road to better health and happiness.
Not that the altruistic nature of this enterprise meant a tinker’s damn to the CEO of this fine instit
ution. So long as there was a steady stream of undereducated and foolish people willing to do monkey work for two bucks over minimum wage, Canada-Pharm’s profit margin was gonna stay well above the sixty-percent mark.
I flopped into my squeaky, undersized chair and booted up my piece of shit workstation computer. It began its usual three to ten minute warm-up process giving me ample time to flip through the patients on my docket that I needed to follow up with.
There was a sticky note plastered to my desk phone. CALL YOUR MOM in big block letters.
Shit.
I crumpled the sticky note and stared at the flickering screen of the ten year old monitor and the “loading personal settings” window for a few long seconds.
Voices on the other side of my cubicle wall;
“I started watching Alias on Netflix last night.”
“Good show. Jennifer Garner. So hot.”
“I know, right? Total ass kicker. Don’t know why I didn’t get into that show before.”
“That show was fine, but its greater purpose served as a vehicle for J.J. Abrams to move onto bigger projects like Lost and the new Star Trek movies.” I raised an eyebrow at that voice. Fifty year old career entry level job seeker and self-evident know it all Michael Grabner had decided to grace the conversation with his wealth of useless knowledge.
Never figured him for a sci-fi aficionado.
“Dude, Lost sucked. None of it made any sense!”
“Now Kory, if you took the time to acknowledge the cinematography and depth of storytelling involved in even a single episode of Lost you’d have a new appreciation for the quality put into each and every scene as compared to something more mundane.”
“Come on, man! How do people stuck on a mysterious island go back and forth in time all the time?”
“Yeah, and what was with all that Jacob and Locke stuff? Was one of them supposed to be like, God or something?”
“Kory, David the whole point of Lost wasn’t to answer all of your questions. It was to create discussion and debate amongst yourselves. It was a higher form of art than you are usually privileged to find on today’s reality TV engorged landscape.”
Silence.
My computer still hadn’t booted up.
I picked up the handset on my desk and began dialing.
David re-entered the fray. “You guys know that Sawyer guy? I think he was on the pilot of Angel. Played a vamp that got dusted like right away.”
“Dude why were you watching, Angel?” Kory asked dismissively. “Buffy was way better.”
“If you’re talking the Whedonverse, gentlemen you simply cannot ignore the brilliance of Dollhouse. Much like his previous shows on FOX, Dollhouse was an achievement that was simply too high-brow for executives to …”
“Hello?”
I tuned out the background geekfest.
“Hi Mom. How’re you feeling?”
She laughed weakly. “Oh, not bad I suppose.”
I leaned my head into my free hand peering around self-consciously. “I didn’t wake you this morning did I? I tried to be quiet.”
She coughed in the background. A dry, raspy sound but muffled. Probably covered by her hand or housecoat. “You were fine, Joseph. I’m having a rough time sleeping as it is.”
My stomach dropped hearing that. I tried to make my voice cheerful. “Gotta stop waiting for Colbert to finish his Threat Down every night, Mom.”
Didn’t sound very cheerful to me.
She chuckled gamely. “You know I prefer Stewart’s show. His interviews are always better.”
Out of the corner of my eye Troy was wandering the mouse maze, peering this way and that. Checking up on his flock of lab rats with that “managerial air.”
“So yeah, Mom” I went on, keeping a watchful eye on the watchful eye. “Is there something I can do for you? I love you and all, but …”
“Yes, I won’t keep you.” More coughing. I waited for her to stop, my heart sinking down to where my stomach was resting. “I am out of medication. Can you get some on your way home?”
“No problem. Your script’s still good here. I’ll pop into the lab on my way out.”
“You’re such a ..” Coughing. “Such a good boy, Joseph.”
“I love you, Mom. Get some rest.”
We hung up.
My computer finally booted up. First thing I did was put in an order for my mom’s medicine and enter in my staff discount code. Canada-Pharm might have been super stingy on employee wage and benefits, but being able to get all doctor prescribed medication for free went a long way.
Probably the only reason Mom was still alive.
Chapter 3
Treadmills are evil.
After spending seven and a half hours feeling like a rat in a cage over at Canada-Pharm, spending another twenty minutes sweating my bag off like a hamster on a wheel seemed both appropriate and irritating.
Sweat poured off my forehead and down my back. My self-conscious nature kicked in every time I felt my belly jiggle in time with my plodding jog. Every pounding stride hurt my knees and back, but the elliptical cross-trainers were being hogged by the ladies trying to get their glow on before heading out on the town.
Okay, “hogged” isn’t fair. There were a couple open ones nearby. I just don’t like being around people when I am training. This is my place. My zone. Being left alone so I can focus on the machine, my heart rate and my stride is important to me.
Plus I didn’t like the not-so-subtle looks of judgment coming from the ladies when I got my fat ass within ten feet of them.
Hey. Big dudes have feelings too.
Finally getting into a groove I switched on the TV unit built into the treadmill and tried to distract myself from the wheezing sounds coming from my lungs.
“… missing girls has increased to fifteen in the last few months. Police are asking people to be on the lookout for eighteen year old Candace Cleghorn who was last seen …”
Click.
“… Paul … You are not the father.”
Screaming woman, dancing fool, irate crowd.
Click.
“… Set phasers to stun.”
“Aye aye, sir.”
Seen it.
Click.
“… definitely a tragic story, Susan. We’ll have more information on the rash of missing girls in Winnipeg after the break. But now let’s visit with Cathy over at the weather desk. How’s it look tonight, Cathy?”
“Thanks, Gord. Well it looks like we’re in for another brisk night in Winnipeg. So if you’re heading out to catch the Jets game make sure to bundle up. Let’s take a look at our long range forecast …”
