I was abruptly awoken by the sound of my alarm, letting me know that sleep was no longer an option given the fact that I'd already hit the snooze button twice. It was time for another tedious day at work. Not to say that I don't love my job. I got to hang out with my two favorite people in the world every evening during the week from 5:30 to 8:00pm, not to mention Saturdays. I mean, who could ask for anything more? I didn't even mind having to get up so early on a Saturday while everyone else was still enjoying their sleep. I looked over at the clock with confidence. It read 6:10. No, it wasn't the schedule that bothered me. It was the person I was ever so obligated to work for.
My boss was an absolute nightmare, end of story. He had a glare that could turn a person to stone and eyes as small and mischievous as those of a rat. His crooked smile was as wicked as Elphaba herself, slightly turned at the corners revealing his fairly yellowed teeth. Not only was his appearance evil, but he had a malicious personality to match.
No matter how hard someone tried to please him, no matter how fast or efficient someone worked, he would always find some sort of mistake in what they did. Nothing was ever good enough for him, so after a while the majority of people just stopped trying to impress him. And the worst part of all was that, unlike the rest of my coworkers, I didn't have the option of quiting. My boss was my Uncle and, although he was unbearable at times, the business hadn't been doing as well lately due to the economy and being family it was "my duty to atleast pitch in a little bit," or so my father would say.
I threw on a pair of distressed jeans and a long sleeved hot pink T-shirt with my favorite necklace. The necklace had a small seashell on it that I'd picked up off the sand on a family vacation to the beach. The shell was held on by a shiny black ribbon that I had braided myself about a year and a half ago. Ever since then it had been the number one priority in my jewelry box. After running a comb through my hair, brushing my teeth, and grabbing a glass of orange juice, I was ready to head out the door. I slipped on my flip flops, picked up my car keys from the table, and drove off in my dusty old black pick-up truck.
It took about half an hour to drive to work from my house because we lived so far from the city. It wasn't a farm, don't get me wrong. There weren't even animals unless you count the deer that often roam out of the woods at night. We just had an abundance of land and an astonishing lack of neighbors. The closest house from ours was about a mile down the road and we rarely ever spoke to the family that lived there. It was sometimes nice living out in the middle of nowhere, not having to deal with the ongoing sounds of traffic or the rumours of crime that occur much to often in city.
I pulled into the parking lot at Craig's Coffee Shop... how about that for an "eye catching" name. And they wonder why the business is failing. I parked my car at the BACK of the parking lot next to my friends. My uncle says that, "The parking spots towards the front are reserved for customers, or in other words, more dignified people." I could just imagine his cocky stance as would point his finger at me, once again going over the abundance of rules.
Just as I took the key out of the ignition I noticed the rain begin to pour down, getting to be more vigorous within seconds. I stumbled around for an umbrella.
"Great," I muttered under my breath. "Looks like I picked the wrong day to wear flip flops." I got out of the car and made a run for the door, which was ridiculously far away. By the time I got inside I looked like I'd just jumped into a pool and then been punched in the face. My makeup was now running down my cheek in black streaks. I looked at my watch. I was almost ten minutes late, which was very rare for me. How could this day possibly get any worse?
I looked up from my watch to find a tall man standing infront of me, clearly looking over the god awful mess the rain had left me with.
"Oh... hello," I said sheepishly.
