🅈🄴🄻🄻🄾🅆 🄲🄰🄽🄰🅁🅈 🄱🄸🅁🄳 •Stanley Barber•

Beaver Valley Bowl

Stanley fucking Barber. I couldn't believe it. If there was a God out there – even a Black man with three eyes like Jacob preached – he must have been a cruel one to do this to me.

I didn't know what to say. What could I have said in a situation like that? I mean, the best thing to do was probably not look like an idiot, but I was already failing at that.

Stan, the ever-social butterfly that he was, gave me a weak smile. He took the pink polo that sat crumpled on his shoulder, and dropped it on the counter.

"I'm just kidding," he said. "Welcome to the team."

"Thanks." I grabbed the shirt and checked the tag: medium. It should fit fine, although unlike Stanley over there, I wasn't too keen on showing any cleavage. Unless it meant getting extra tips. Maybe then I would be tempted.

Nah.

Well, maybe.

"Why don't I give you a little tour?" said Stan, giving me his classic smile. His teeth were so bright that I could still see them when I closed my eyes.  It was disturbing to say the least.

Stan hopped over the counter, and began marching over to the back of the bowling alley, towards the Employee's Only sign. I should apologize, right? Say that I was really stressed, and I didn't mean anything that I had said to him earlier.

But what if that would make it worse? What if he just fired me on the spot? He could make up an excuse, since he was the supposed manager of this damn place. How did that even happen?

Never mind all that, Kara. You just have to go with the flow. One foot in front of the other.

"So, this is technically how you're supposed to go in every day," Stan said, pushing the Employees Only door open with his back so he could still face me.

Supposed to?

I slipped in after Stan, only to step into the girl's locker room in Westinghouse High. Well, not literally, of course. It was just a bare hall full of easy-to-break-into lockers. Most of them sat empty, with the exception of a crocodile-skinned purse and brown leather jacket inside one. Stan smacked the lockers, and they let out a metallic groan.

"Lockers," he announced. "You can put stuff in here before your shift. I can't promise it won't get stolen, though."

He continued on with the tour, taking a left into the long, concrete hall. How could he be acting so normal after what I did today? Did he just not realize it was me? I could only hope that was it; I mean, I was sweaty and gross, so I guess it was technically possible. But also, we've known each other for years.

I followed behind the speedy manager as best I could. We made it to another closed door, and just beyond that was a pocket into the bowling center. Shoes lined the back wall, and I knew we had made it back to where we started. Yet somehow the small little cubby in the whole looked much sadder from this view. It felt bare, and it smelled like feet.

"This'll be the easiest job you've ever taken," said Stan. "People will come up to you, ask for a shoe size, and you grab it for them, since you'll usually have someone else here to man the cash register. The only important thing you need to remember is to mark it off on this chart."

He pulled out a clipboard from under the counter, slapping it down. I peered over at the white paper, where a printed version of the shoe cabinet decorated the front. Stan also explained how to properly write everything out, but it wasn't anything difficult.

My trip home from the store kept eating at my brain. How could he act so nice around me? I wasn't forgettable, was I? I wanted to bite my nails, but I couldn't stand to get fired on the first day for being unprofessional. Could I get fired for that?