I Hope My Boss Believes Me

There is only one entrance for all the employees of Destined Destinations. For security reasons, we are not permitted to enter or exit the premises from anywhere else, lest we pay for rooms ourselves or are visiting HR (God forbid).

Though, knowing the salaries we are paid, the former is highly unlikely. Positions often cap at $19.00 an hour. It’s far more than other starting positions elsewhere, but I doubt my coworkers support their families by the salaries here alone. I can barely afford new notebooks.

I walk through the same four doors every day—one is at the very front and one is about two meters after it. Sometimes it’ll be at 4:00 in the morning, and other times it’ll be 4:00 in the afternoon. Either way, I’m passing out once I reach home, even if I promise myself to get some homework done. Today, I mutter a quiet hello to the tired security guard at 4:00 in the afternoon; I hate this guy. He never gives me a smile. Isn’t that bad customer service?

He gives me a curt nod and unlocks the second pair of doors so I can head inside. I bow my head as someone excitedly walks out the doors to my left. She’s all dressed up, ready for a fun night out. I’ve seen her do this a couple of times. She must not be in school. I’ve caught glimpses of her name tag; she’s got an “E” name. Emily? Emma? Elle? I stop right after the door as an HR representative insists I take a picture for the holiday of the season. “Happy Valentines Day!” he cheers, guiding me to the well put together display against the wall. We’re encouraged to take these photos to be part of the end-of-the-year collage, but I’m not sure if I’m alright with my ill-fitted khaki pants being apart of the whole thing. Seriously, when am I going to size down? Anyway, by the cafeteria, leading all the way to HR, are countless of these collages. I hardly know when they started.

As I back up against the display and hold up a weak peace sign, I gaze behind the HR representative’s balding head—towards the hallway I can’t help but stare at every time I start my shift and end it. It’s impossibly long; though there are pallets of supplies and construction equipment lining the whole way on either side, it feels beyond empty. Now that I really think about it, I don’t believe I’ve ever seen anyone walk down there. Though, the pallets constantly shift, so it could just be my imagination—

“Smile!” he insists, noticing my face falter.

“Oh—sorry.” I tilt the corners of my mouth up.

I definitely blinked in my picture, but at least I’m walking towards the time clock with a pink-frosted donut in my hand. I’m far too early again, so I take my time with it. I slide pink frosting off my thumb with my teeth before inputting my clock in code. Rejected. Right, I put it in again. It’s not your phone, moron. I set my bag down in my locker before heading onto the restaurant floor.

I feel like I only run five plates of food before I’m told to leave because we’re slow. “I know you’re studying,” my manager assures me, “so I hope you can use this spare time to get some of that homework done!” She clasps her hands together all too enthusiastically.

I doubt I’ll be able to pay tuition if you keep cutting me first. I won’t have any homework to do, Boss. “Of course, thank you so much.”

February is always slow; the rich guests who come here with their families are back on the corporate grind and whatnot. I always wonder if I’d prefer that lifestyle. At least I’d know exactly what to expect from my income; I wouldn’t rely on the performance of servers who constantly hide out in the bathroom to smoke and gossip with one another for a good tip-out. I’d be off on the weekends—maybe even be able to catch up with my friends.

The doors gently shut behind me as I step onto the pavement. I clasp my hands atop my hips and sigh. Though I need the money, getting cut sure is freeing. I reach into my pocket.

My keys.

“Dammit,” I curse. I step back inside, flashing my ID to the security guard before stalking through the second pair of doors. I always hate walking back inside after saying my goodbyes to the coworkers I get along with. It’s embarrassing!

I stare down the long hallway. I blink a few times.

Was it always that clean?

I tuck my hair behind my ear and continue walking past it, as I always do. After a walk that feels far too long, I open my locker and retrieve my keys. I slam it shut, catching my pinkie in the door somehow. I curse aloud; in a panic, I dart my head side-to-side to make sure none of my managers are around. “Vile language is ill-fitted for the workplace,” they’d recite. Funny how people change into robots once they get bumped up to 30 bucks an hour.

My keys jingle as they hit the floor; like magic itself, my fuzzy keychain gets wedged into the tiny gap between the bottom of the locker and the floor. Great.

I get onto my knees and force my fingers into the gap. Only two fit, and I clench my teeth as I force the keys out. My fingers are red, but at least I have my keys.

Or, I thought I did. Why is my palm covered in ink?

I look closer. There’s writing on my palm.

forever.

forever.

forever.

forever.

This…message curves around the “C” shaped line closest to my thumb.

Okay.

Where are my keys.

This is something one of the idiot new hires would pull—they think they need to get the older servers to “accept them” so they get bossed around less, but all they do is bother everyone in their attempts. I mean, that’s all this is.

I turn to my left. The hallway stares back at me.

Wait, how? My locker is nowhere near this hallway; maybe it’s a different one I’ve never noticed?

No. I know this hallway. Day and night I’ve stared at it despite the uneasy feeling it gives me. I know better, don’t I?

My feet move on their own. Once I step into the hallway, the lights flashbang me from above. Though they tone down a bit, they remain impossibly bright; any shadows that manage to emerge are near pitch-black.

To my right, there are two vending machines—one for snacks and medicine, and one for beverages. I slide a few spare coins into the snack one; I need a chocolate bar.

The machine spits them right back out. Because of the worn-out bottom slot, they clatter onto the floor and disappear to who-knows-where. I forgot: these things are card-only these days. I don’t have enough anyway. Why is the chocolate $3.00?

Before I can punch the machine, something sticks out to me. On the bottom right slot, A8, there isn’t a snack, or a kind of medicine. It’s just a single, unlabeled blue pill bottle. Despite myself, I scan my card and get it. It’s only a dollar, after all.

It thuds upon hitting the bottom of the machine, and after straining to get it, I hold it up to the light.

There’s a small imprint on the cap. Maybe a brand name?

here. here. here. here.

The same handwriting as what was on my palm. What was on my palm? I hold up my right hand to remember, but it’s gone. My hand is pristine, as though I’d never touched the dirty floor at all.

Wait, why am I still here? Didn’t I get cut?

Or, was that yesterday? Am I late for today’s shift?

I snap my head back around towards the way I came from. The end of the hallway stares back at me.

I turn my head around again. The end stares at me again.

How could this happen? I was just at my locker.

I open the blue pill bottle—only it’s orange now. It slips out of my hands; as I catch it, the contents spill out.

Tiny, green pills cascade onto the floor in an impossible fountain. They pile up onto the floor, burying my feet.

I raise my foot in shock; for whatever reason, the pills make my feet feel as though they’ve fallen asleep. My shoes are gone.

Shame, I paid a lot for those.

What time is it?

I walk away from where I came from, sharp pain stinging me with every step. All the pallets, all the carts with people’s luggage, and all the litter people leave behind after succumbing to the vending machines’ allure are gone. There isn’t a single trash can either. Where am I supposed to put this pill bottle? The contents continue spilling, leaving a trail behind me.

Poor custodians. I’m only trying to get to work on time.

I halt as a familiar sensation tickles the balls of my feet.

Wet grass. And a lot of it.

I sit down on the grass, staining my khaki pants.

My awful pants that don’t fit me right.

They’re gone.

I’m left in my beat-up boxers. I stole them a very long time ago from my brother right after he bought them—I hoped they would help my thighs chafe less. 30,000 steps a day is no joke.

The hairs on my legs stand up as the cold dew of the grass prickles them. I smile and start to pluck the grass. I pull the blade apart bit by bit, watching as it flutters to the ground.

Black. The grass is black. After the first blade is pulled apart, the grass turns black in the blink of an eye—I don’t get to see it happen.

It grows to be taller than me, even after I stand to my full height. I can’t afford to sit around. I force my way through.

After what feels like hours of endless trekking, I halt once the grass finally has a flat patch. There’s a small pond. The water appears even more pristine than the resort’s pool. So, I kneel and cup my hands to take a sip. The moment I take any water into my hands, however, the water is opaque. I can’t see a single bit of my palms beneath this disgusting water.

So, I drop it back to its wretched source.

It splashes me, leaving burn marks in its wake. Was it always this hot?

The tight button-up we are made to wear for work is impossibly stuffy. While my pants are too loose, this shirt is too tight. I’m always afraid the buttons will pop off around the bosom and gouge someone’s eye out.

My chest, belly, and arms are covered in goosebumps.

It’s still hot.

Even my dorm is colder than this.

I scratch my skin. It’s dry and rough.

Was I always this sleepy?

I lean forward, catching my reflection in the pristine water. My hair is perfect. I don’t think it’s ever been this beautiful. I smile ear-to-ear. Tears stream down my eyes before I can possibly register why.

I look closer and closer, my nose bumps the water before I am swallowed entirely.

The water collides with my skin, forcing me deeper into its perfectly clear depths.

The bright light of the hallway slowly fades out as I descend further.

This is perfect. I’m finally cooled off.

The little that remains of my clothing is gone; I don’t even have my hair tie anymore.

I sink.

I shut my eyes; the light above me makes me see bright red against them.

It’s beautiful.

I think I’ll stay here for a little while longer.

I hope my boss believes me.

you're in.

you're in.

you're in.

you're in.