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The Bijou, a usually boisterous place where friends come to escape their own petty problems, becomes my own personal hell after the last showing leaves the respective theater. Equipped with a mere broom and a cylinder of Clorox wipes, I am left to clean whatever the public decided they could not pick up and take five feet away to throw in the nearest garbage can. Even worse than sweeping up cholesterol-abundant popcorn and unsticking lollipops that had adhered to worn leather seats, was cleaning the bathrooms. Dumping out the "sanitary napkin" container marked the last of this awful task. Before leaving the musty restroom, I wash my hands with unnecessary amounts of soap. I let the lukewarm water run over my hands because I'm not sure that it will ever get hot. Drying my hands on the black cloth of my work uniform, I grab my cleaning equipment and walk out of the bathroom. Once in the lobby, I am greeted with my fellow coworker who had beat me in rock, paper, scissors 30 minutes prior, sealing my fate as the employee who received the privilege of cleaning the bathrooms.

"Piper Johnson, our very own employee of the month, wiping the fucking counters while I, Alex Romero, cleaned the entire ladies restroom by myself." I set my rag on her newly clean counters and she slides a half eaten box of M&M's over to me.

"As employee of the month it is my sacred obligation to remind you that there is no fucking swearing in the theater," Piper retaliates while locking the candy display. "I swear to God if you get your greasy prints on my newly polished glass, I will leave you here to get gang-banged by the Serpents."

I laugh while Piper puts our cleaning equipment away in the closet and grabs her car keys from the break room. We walk out of the theater and to the small sedan that would take us to our respective homes. Music plays through the car, but we lower the volume as we approach our street. The neighborhood watch has complained about the volume of our music before and Piper's parents were not happy. She pulls into my driveway and I step out of the car, quietly shutting the door as not to wake the pure-blood Northsiders that I have to call my neighbors. The privileged folk are not fond of anyone with ties to the "troubled" Southside. Walking quietly through the threshold into my house, I can already see Piper's headlights turn into her driveway, a mere four houses away. 

Tiptoeing through my living room, I make my way up the steps and down the hallway towards my room. My mom is probably already asleep since it is 45 minutes past midnight, and I pray that I don't wake my two sleeping nephews. I slide out of my work uniform, not caring enough to fold it nicely and make sure it isn't wrinkled for my shift tomorrow. I brush my red hair out of the ponytail that had been restraining it for so long and climb into my bed. It's not long before exhaustion takes over, and soon I'm asleep among mounts of blankets.                                             

• • • 

I'm woken up abruptly by the sound of my nephews' pounding at the wooden door separating my room from the hallway. Groaning, I slip off my bed and open the door. I scoop the younger boy, Mason, onto my hip and the other, Jayce, walks beside me as I begin my search for a suitable breakfast. My kitchen is foreboding and disheveled, a sight not uncommon in the Romero household. Despite the mess of dishes and unopened mail that litters the counter tops, a note from my mother sticks out to me.

"The boys ate already, can you clean the house up today? 

I'll be home later. - Mom"    

Crumpling up the note and throwing it away, I turn on the TV in an attempt to distract the boys. After refuting arguments from a three year old, both children begin relaxing on the couch. I rush to get a start on the cleaning my mom asked me to do since I know they will only remain dormant for a short period of time. The job seems too daunting for one teenager, and I decide to call Piper. She arrives quickly due to the lack of distance between our houses.  

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⏰ Last updated: Jun 25, 2019 ⏰

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