twisted ✔️ (being edited)

17| You Can't Fire Me, I Quit

three weeks later

"Come on, come on, come on. Start!" I turn the key in the ignition again and it sputters before fading out. "Shit!" I smack the steering wheel, screaming. I know my car is a piece of junk and I should just buy a new one, but I'm too attached. Dad got this car for me. I punch the horn. "Turn on already, you stupid car! My shift starts in ten minutes!"

Uncle Paulter comes jogging out of the house. "Hey, hey, hey! Who are you screaming at?"

"My piece of junk car!" I shout, smacking the dashboard, hoping it'll suddenly work.

"You work?"

I nod. "Yes. I have a shift in ten minutes. Can I have a ride please, Uncle Paulter."

"'Course. I was about to head out, anyway. I'll drop you off."

"Thank you!" I sigh and get out of my car, slamming the door shut. I climb into his truck.

Uncle Paulter starts backing out of the driveway. "What time do you get off? I'll swing back and pick you up."

"Four. Jackie has me working a morning shift today." Jackie knows I hate morning shifts, especially on the weekend. I rest my arm on the window and stare out at the city moving past. "I despise morning shifts and Jackie knows that. She purposely gives them to me."

"Sounds like a boss that doesn't care."

"She doesn't. She always makes me work the corner section."

He glances over, asking, "What's wrong with the corner section?"

I keep my eyes glued to the window. "Stupid Creepy Dan. He started sitting in that section."

Out of the corner of my eye, I watch as his knuckles turn white against the steering wheel as his hands tighten around it. "Speaking of that scumbag, did you call Jackie like your Mom told you to do yesterday?"

I roll my eyes. "Yes, and Jackie said she couldn't do anything about it. That if I still wanted a job, I should stop complaining and actually do my job."

Uncle Paulter shakes his head. "Makes me want to smack the bitch. You call me if that asshole tries anything, alright?"

"Yes, Uncle Paulter," I mutter. "I'll just page you on your beeper or throw up the bat signal." He pulls into the parking lot. "Guess I'll see you at four. Thanks for the ride."

"Anytime, kiddo." He pats my shoulder and tells me, "You know, there are better jobs than this—without the creeps."

I shrug and give him a weak smile. I know, I'm just used to it by now." I jump out and wave before jogging inside behind the counter.

"You're late," Jackie points out.

I check the time. "By one minute. My car stalled. I had to get a ride."

"Not my problems." She crosses her arms. "Hurry up and clock in. We're getting busy." She leaves and goes to the office.

After clocking in, I walk back, and whisper under my breath, "Fucking bitch."

***

There's fifteen minutes until my shift ends. The end of a long, horrible day. A customer threw her coffee at me because it was 'too cold' even though she specified she wanted an iced coffee. I'm not even going to attempt to understand that logic. An older man—spending his thirtieth anniversary with his wonderful wife—asked for my number as soon as his wife went to the bathroom. I left a note for her on their receipt and I have to admit I was satisfied to see her hit him with her purse. Thankfully—though—I didn't have to deal with—