Chasing Shadows (5 page)

***

At the meeting I take my spot next to Fin and
Doug. Conceptually, one would imagine that the purpose of holding a
staff meeting in the cafe is so that everyone can sit. This is not
so. All the chairs are up on the tables, waiting for the cleaning
crew who comes in at five to mop the floors. Taking them down would
only mean putting them back up again, so we all stand around in a
semi-circle facing Kathy. Funny, there never seems to be any call
for a staff meeting when Super Al is here.

Kathy clears her throat and smoothes the front
of her tight fitting, red, angora sweater. She is wearing it over
khaki colored pants and brown sensible shoes. Kathy's boobs are
each roughly the size of her head. When she feels like she has our
attention, Kathy begins to speak.

"The reason I called you is not a good one."
She smiles regretfully. "Day shift has had this meeting earlier, so
some of you may already know. Two days ago the floor safe behind
the registers came up short, and this isn't the first time." She
holds up a hand to stop the objections she imagines are coming.
"Now I know you're going to say that the store is only open for the
first hour of your shift, but that is also the hour before we close
out the drawers for the night. And I also know that none of you are
cashiers, so you don't have pass codes to the registers and only
managers are supposed to have pass codes to the safe..." She pauses
for dramatic effect, or to catch her breath. "Still
someone
is doing it, and we can't yet rule anyone out. Also, and this is
more relatable, shrinkage has gone up noticeably this month, and
corporate suspects employee theft. Frankly, I've seen the numbers,
and I suspect too. So, what this all boils down to is, bag checks
at shift change are going to become more thorough and we can't have
anyone taking breaks outside anymore, especially at
night."

A chorus of groans drowns her out now. Fuck.
Fucking, sneaky bastards. I have two main thoughts on this. One: I
know that, as a sentiment, it’s corny and over done but, why do
they have to punish the innocent with the guilty? Don't answer
that. Two: There is no theft. This is an elaborate ploy to disallow
smoking. Nazis!

Kathy claps her hands to get our attention.
"Hey now. I'm sorry, but there's more. You need to be extra careful
about keeping your receipts with your belongings, and if you have
to bring an item that you don't have a receipt for, you have to get
it stickered by a day shift manager
before
you pass the
registers on your way in. This means you’ll need to get here early
enough to have a cashier call a manager to come up and check your
bag on your way in. I know, I know.” She acknowledges the grumbles
with a sympathetic head shake. “The best thing is just not to carry
merchandise with you. Now, at the managers meeting we decided that
we’re all going to make an effort to be on the first floor, near to
the registers as the next shift is coming in, but you know how
things can get. Its no guarantee, and needing to get stickered is
not an acceptable excuse for tardiness.” Kathy takes a deep breath.
“Now, just to let you all know how serious we are about this, I
have to tell you. If you are caught with merchandise for which you
do not have a receipt, you will be given a decision making day
without pay, and you may have to go leave without pay while we
check the security cameras. Its no fun, let me tell you. Its boring
as heck to sift through all that camera footage checking on an
entire shift when you know that the person you’re looking at isn’t
guilty...” Kathy takes a second to shift the papers she’s laid on
the shelf beside her. “Oh yes, that’s right.” She says. “I also
need to warn you that once the day people leave, we will be setting
the alarm system. So we’ll all be locked in here until the shift
ends. Related to that you should know, if any of the doors are
opened without first disabling the security system, the silent
alarm will go off. This means that the cops and the fire department
will both come. If they come and it’s not a real emergency, the
store will be fined $500.00. If you are the reason for a false
alarm, like you just had to sneak a cigarette and thought no one
would know, then that $500.00 will come out of your paycheck. Now I
have forms here for you all to sign saying that I’ve told you about
the alarm and the bag checks, so if you violate the new policies
you won’t be able to say you didn’t know. And by the way, kindly
notice, I waited until
after
your smoke break tonight to
tell you about the policy changes... you’re welcome.”

“What about trash?” It’s Clarrisha, a normally
quiet girl. She’s not a smoker, so maybe her question will get an
answer.

“What do you mean?” Kathy asks.

“I mean we usually take the trash out before we
clock out, and if we can’t leave the building until after the shift
is over, who’s gonna take the trash out? Because you know those
day-shift princesses aren’t gonna do it, and I sure aint doing it
off the clock. That’s illegal. You can’t ask us to work for free.
Also, not that it matters to me, but you can’t keep us here on our
lunch breaks either. You either gotta give us paid lunches, or let
us go where ever we want when we’re off the clock. I’ll take a paid
lunch.”

Kathy sighs. “You know with any new policy
there are kinks to work out. Maybe the cleaners will do the trash.
And of course you can leave on lunch. You’ll just have to check
your bag out and back in.”

Clarrisha shakes her head. “I thought only
managers from another shift could check our belongings.”

Kathy looks flummoxed. “I don’t know all the
answers but those are good questions. I’ll try to get the answers
for you by tomorrow when the policy takes effect.”

Well hell, I think. No more smoke breaks. At
least no more smoke breaks when Kathy is manager. They’re just
trying to scare us. No way their actually gonna write people up, or
give them D-days, over an un-stickered book. Not that that is a
problem for me. I smile, thinking of my clever receipt taping
habits... Who has foresight? I have foresight. But mark my words:
the first day shift princess, as Clarrisha says, who cries about
it, will get off with a warning. Then we’ll all get one warning.
Then people will lie about how many warnings they’ve gotten, and
why the fuck shouldn’t they? Then we’ll all get three warnings.
Then the policy will die its own quiet death. Oh it’ll still be
there, and they may drag it out to punish someone they don’t like
if they can’t find anything else to get them on, but by in large,
we’ll all just live around it.

Then there’s the alarm thing, which I just bet
is a lie Kathy made up to make herself look good. If I were a
little richer, I’d try it out just to see. But, while I have a
healthy savings account, I’m not quite sure I’m willing to dip into
it just to test my boundaries. That could be a $500.00
cigarette.

This thought gives me pause and leads to
another. If you get lung cancer from smoking and get the
treatments: chemo, radiation, surgery. How much would that all
cost? Add to that the retail value of the cigarettes themselves
over a life time. Divide the total by the average number of
cigarettes a pack-a day smoker smokes in a life time. Fuck
adjusting for inflation, that’s all
hypothetical-crystal-ball-gazing bullshit as far I’m concerned.
Just using today’s prices, what then is the real cost of each
coffin nail? Is it less than $500.00 a piece? Less than
$50.00?

I am so distracted by my conjecture that, next
thing I know, the paper is being shoved in my face by
Kathy-big-boobs. “Meegan.” She says sharply. “Did you hear any of
the meeting?”

I smile, because that’s what you do to
management. “About breaks and books. Yeah I’ll sign it.” I take the
paper, give it my John Hancock and follow everybody else back to
work.

Chapter Three

Its seven PM on Saturday and my outfit is
ridiculous. I'm in a long sleeved purple knit dress with a V-neck
so low that my electric blue bra clasp is showing. The dress ends
just below my ass. I'm wearing it over skinny jeans that have
sparkles, that's right,
all-over-bright-glittery-rub-off-on-everything sparkles. At least
they let me keep my combat boots. Even the silliness of college
girls can't argue with the sub freezing temperatures so I'm still
wearing my cream colored, leather, dirt-bike jacket with the blue
arm stripes. No hat though, and my rainbow hair has been gelled and
sprayed to give me an extra three inches in height making me and
even six foot. I look like a twitching transvestite. Also, I am
aware that I'm walking like a farmer. Fin and her friends just
'could not' let me meet the band as myself.

Why am I allowing this? Irritably I try to
forget what I look like, as Fin hits the buzzer to an abandoned
looking building on an industrial stretch of Ohio Street. I've been
by this place a hundred times on my night wanderings, but never
dressed as rainbow hooker.

The speaker gives a bzzzt, and we open the
glass door on a narrow stairwell, The space is littered with
cigarette butts and pools of something disgusting, piss or vomit if
I had to guess. Up we go. Fin is wearing a get up louder than mine,
but she pulls it off well. Lime green rubber dress with black and
pink leggings. Her long dark hair hangs Cher straight over her
half-length, fake-fur, pimp coat. We don't even look like
classy
prostitutes. I hope they have beer. I'm gonna need
it.

We enter, and Fin is immediately lost in a
passionate embrace with Doug. They exchange tongues while I sidle
past them into a big open loft. A short, buff, bald man is tuning
up his bass. He wears it slung low like Flea, so I can see the
black flag logo on his t-shirt. Beyond him is a deceptively normal
looking guy with brown hair and glasses. He has head phones plugged
into his electric guitar and is paying the world no mind. To my
right is an old beat up plaid couch. There is a blonde woman draped
across it. She has enough metal in her face to make her features
difficult to see, but I get the impression of fat lips. Sitting on
a rollie stool further down is another female, this one of Latin
descent. She's very pretty, and curvy, and she's wearing a t-shirt
and jeans combination that looks eerily similar to the one Fin
wouldn't let me leave her dorm room in. When she notices us, she
stands up and comes over, a pleasant smile on her face.

"Hi." She says to me.

"Hi." I nod back.

"So I take it that's Fin." She raises her
eyebrows in the direction of the heavy petting blob over by the
door.

I suck in a breath. "Yup, that's her." I say.
"I'm Meegan. She brought me for moral support."

The girl nods. "Yeah I figured. You have that
moral support look about you."

I laugh.

"I'm Francis." She says. "Ralph's
wife."

"Which one's Ralph?"

Francis gives a sweet sort of smile. "Short,
bald one with the bass."

"Ah."

She points to the average looking guy. "That's
Sergio, and the blonde passed out on the couch is his girlfriend
Carol."

"So Doug's the drummer?" I ask.

"Yup."

"Who sings?"

Francis shrugs. "Qasim, he's not here yet. So
you in art school?” I catch her eyeing my outfit.

“Nope. I’m a hooker.” I say.

Francis laughs brightly. I’m jealous of her
smile. I like her. “Want a beer?” She asks.

“Oh my God, yes.”

“Come on.” She leads me past my dry humping
co-workers, deeper into the loft where there is a kitchenette.
“Bathroom’s back that way.” She points. “I made sure there’s toilet
paper this time. Heineken? Corona?”

I smile. “Heineken please.”

“Cool, you can have ‘em. I hate
Heineken.”

“Really?”

“Really.” She says.

And all else is a loss because in he walks.
He’s tall, six three at least. His skin is a beautiful caramel
color and his black, wavy hair shines in the lamp light. Its
shoulder length and it calls to me. He has big soft brown eyes,
like a girl. When he looks over and sees us he smiles, bright,
white, straight teeth. Something in his smile says “Asshole”. I am
immediately transfixed. I hope he’s not an idiot. He’s probably an
idiot. I take a big swig of my beer and look for some physical flaw
I can latch onto to make him less intimidating. Ah, there it is:
his Adam’s apple is huge, could literally
be
an apple. Ooo
another one! His left nostril is like, twice the size of his right
one. Cool. I can do this. He walks over.

“Hi.” I say, trying to remember his Adam’s
apple as his pretty, pretty eyes threaten to swallow me
whole.

“Hi. I’m Qasim.” He answers. And now I have it:
the thing that will keep me from showing him my boobs before the
night is over. His voice, it’s like a gay Chihuahua is trapped in
his throat. Totally explains the massive Adam’s apple.

I smile, confident now, at ease. “I’m Meegan,
Fin’s friend.”

“Nice Jacket.” Yips Qasim.

I nod. “Thanks.” He does smell good. Flash of
my mouth on that caramel throat, the taste of his skin. I flush.
Qasim smiles. “I’m so glad you’re not a mute.” I say. Wow, holy
shit, why would I say something like that? But both he and Francis
laugh as if I was witty. I like them. I take another swig and
finish the beer. Jesus, I drank it all already?