I am the Skeleton in the Closet

The Heat of the Moment

I decided to quit my job shortly after getting the new car. There were a few different factors that went into it. One of the main ones was the top manager. He was a decent enough guy, but he hired workers and kept them long past their expiration date. A number of the people I now worked with were his friends, each as dumb as the last, and they were all into drugs in one way or another. He also had a habit of hiring the teenagers you wouldn't want touching any sort of food. The best representation of this was the most recent hire Callie. She was quite possibly the worst worker I have ever had the pleasure of working with. She would routinely pitch fits if she was ever told to do something, then would refuse to leave and go home when she was told after pitching a fit in front of customers. On more than one instance she would violently spill the stews and veggies everywhere because someone told her that she couldn't go home early because we needed her to close. Often times, because she didn't like doing dishes, they would put me in the back so I would be the one having to clean up after her most recent fit. I had worked there since I was fifteen, now I was almost twenty, and I was practically a manager. I knew my stuff better than people that had been there much longer than me. Yet, anytime she worked with me, I would be put in the back, because anytime she was, the dishes wouldn't get done. She was too busy taking selfies to bother. Anything she claimed to have cleaned would ended up having to be re-cleaned by me, after I was yelled at for not cleaning it properly. I was sick of it.

Hey, you should know that Callie spilled and ruined a tub of hummus and the rest of the curry stew because Tegan said she couldn't go home early. Just so you know that you have to prep all of that tomorrow morning. I would passive aggressively inform the head manager almost nightly.

We'll talk later. He would respond, only to never address the issue.

"She's a body OK." He would try to convince me later when I would bring it up in person.

"We get applications literally daily." I would always argue.

"Yeah, but then I have to train them." He'd complain back.

"OK, then put them on my shifts, I can work up front. You don't have to train someone on dishes." I would rationalize to a swatting hand dismissing me as he walked away.

She was pretty. That's what it boiled down to. She was younger than I was by about two years. Prissy, she'd come in with her deep brown hair all but up and under her cap, make up all done like she was getting ready for a pageant. We'd get more tips when she worked up front. More money for the workers, less for the restaurant given the amount she broke through the year with her fits.

Where is she? I wondered one night as I attempted to finish the dishes and close. "Anyone seen Callie?" I wondered allowed as I grabbed the last of the dishes from up front.

"Taking out the trash." The manager that night shorted me.

"Huh. That's funny because none of the trash is taken out." I mumbled loud enough for him to hear.

"Shut up with that shit. Shit's annoying." He sighed as I went to the back.

"Guess I'll just take it." I informed him louder grabbing and tying the bag. I stepped out the door I found her in the car with her boyfriend. "What are you doing?" I asked loathingly.

"Talking. You?"

"Your job." I walked off without even a glance her way to throw the garbage in the dumpster. "Come in and do your fucking job." I said louder as I passed her again and slammed the door behind me. "Hey, thought you should know that she's outside smoking with her boyfriend." I said in passing as I replaced the trash bags upfront.

"What?"

"Yup. Right outside the door." I nodded heading back to the dishes.

He sighed loudly and followed me back to get her. As we rounded the corner to the sink she came through the door.