𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐖𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐄𝐃 ━ max mayfield

3│SHE WORKS HARD FOR THE MONEY

She fidgeted with the antenna of the device to try and recover the sound. "'. . .is the newly appointed police chief, Calvin Powell, who served as deputy under Chief Hopper. As you can see behind me, Chief Powell and the Hawkins Police Department are actively investigating the scene. . .'"

Mrs. Johnson slowly made her way into the kitchen and glared at the offending report. "Turn that off, would you?" It was more of a demand than a request. "I don't need to hear that this whole town is going to heck in a handbasket. I knew that the moment my husband died. He was perfectly healthy right up until he went to sleep that night. . ."

This was also untrue: Mr. Johnson had definitely not been the picture of health in his later years. He'd hardly ever left the house and had gained enough weight that it had made going up the stairs difficult. While Jessie had never met him, she'd seen his pictures that his wife kept on the walls. (And if she was being honest, she was glad that she'd gotten to skip that introduction.)

With a sigh, the brunette acquiesced to her employer's order and shut the radio off to subject herself to another hour of mind-numbing boredom.

.・。.・゜✫・.・✫・゜・。.

As usual, Jessie had never been happier to finish a task. After she'd finished putting away the cleaning items, she made her way back to the kitchen where the elderly woman was making herself a sandwich. (And, of course, she never once offered to feed her younger employee. Not that she needed to, but Jessie would've disliked her marginally less.)

The brunette cleared her throat. "Mrs. Johnson, I've finished for today."

She didn't even bother to look up from her task. "So soon? Are you certain you've gotten to every item? I'm too old to check behind you but I certainly don't need a—" Here, she used an unpleasant term for Jessie's Jewish heritage. "—to scam me. I know you lot like your money so I wouldn't put it past you to do a haphazard job just to get a quick wage."

Jessie sighed; they had a similar conversation every week and by now, she had grown to expect it. "No, Mrs. Johnson. I've made sure to get every surface you showed me on the first time. Can I have my paycheck now?"

The woman finally looked up from preparing her meal as she replied dismissively, "you can have it next week."

Again, another common phrase. "That's what you said last week," the teen said. She did her best to keep her tone patient rather than accusing.

Apparently, Mrs. Johnson didn't appreciate her efforts. She raised an unimpressed eyebrow. "Are you giving me lip, young lady? You should be grateful that I've given you a place to work. You know, most places wouldn't even higher someone with your. . . colorful background. You've never even thanked me for hiring you! Here I am, giving you a steady job each week and paying you out of my retirement funds— which could be going to my own children, mind you— and you have the audacity to talk back to me?" She let out an indignant little snort. "Employees could never get away with that back in my day—"

"Thank you, Mrs. Johnson," Jessie cut in through gritted teeth. "I should be paying you instead of the other way around, really— that's how appreciative I am of this job. You have no idea how grateful I am for your-your charity. You really are doing God's work here."

Mrs. Johnson's one redeemable quality was that she couldn't pick up sarcasm even if it hit her in the face. Instead, she became rather flustered. "Well, I would certainly say so. Very well, just a moment and I'll settle out your wages."

Unfortunately, the elderly woman never tipped her.

.・。.・゜✫・.・✫・゜・。.