August 7, 2015




"Who was that?" James asked as he prepped the margarita. "One of those old high school acquaintances you hoped would've ODed by now?" I sat at the counter with a defeated slump and a halfhearted snirk, setting my tray beside me.

"Satan," I answered more clearly than I intended.

"She's hot." I could see him reminiscing about her already.

"Yep," I agreed. "I bet she's wild in bed, too." James's eyes went wide as he considered this and I realized what terrible thing I had just said. James was married, happily until now, with two young boys at home. He worked here and as stocker at the grocery store at night. He was great husband and father and now he was fantasizing about getting satanic booty in a sweat filled bed.

"You're married, dammit," I hissed at him. "And Catholic; isn't lust a sin?"

"Eh," he sounded with a shrug. "I'll confess and do my Hail Marys and be good again."

"And that's all you have to do to keep from going to hell," I wondered aloud. He nodded contentedly as he lived with the security his soul was safe. She must have been listening or still in my mind because she popped of the restroom hallway then and smiled at me.

"Not going to work for you," she said with a smile and wrinkle of her nose as though I were just world cutest puppy. Then she disappeared back down the hallway. I groaned and put my head on the cool counter.

"I'm going to hell," I mumbled and James put the prepped margarita on my tray. "Thanks," I told him as I picked it and took a long sip.

"Uh, you're working," he reminded as though it may have slipped my mind. I looked down, saw the apron as if it were new and shrugged.

"I quit," I said calmly as I unpinned my nametag and set it on the counter. Then I took another sip of the margarita. "Do you think a handshake is actually a binding agreement?" I asked. He shrugged as he began to prepare another drink for the cutomer I had just abandoned.

"Why, did you really trade you soul to win the lotto?" he asked me but the tone wasn't serious. My silence got him to look up and see me solemnly nodded. He examined me; I could see him trying to get what I was saying, and maybe even looking for a shake of the shoulders to tell him this was a joke. There was none.

"You're damned," he said with a sigh. "Who was this for?"

"Bleach blond with the I-want-to-talk-to-a-manager haircut at table fourteen," I answered and s left to deliver the drink without even bothering to attempt to fix my problem first. The jerk. I finished her previous margarita and pulled the cost from the tips in my apron but I had to add a few dollars from my pocket as well. It had been a slow evening. I left it on the counter, took my apron off and went to the locker room to fetch my purse.

That was the end of that job, not that I was sorry. I hated it. It was making me hate people. Maybe with my new found fortunate I could find some good in the world again.




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