As I’m about to punch out, the shift leader calls my name.
I offer a smile she doesn’t return as I hand over the small white bag containing her four random doughnuts, then check my watch. How could she possibly know that the treats she’s ordering were assembled by an educated pastry chef making the best of a complete lack of job opportunities? I am literally certified to make macarons, profiteroles, éclairs, and soufflés, but I put my best into this job at this chain doughnut shop. I artfully applied the packaged icing that was no doubt manufactured in a factory. My skin, hair, and clothing are coated in a thin sheen of grease from the fryers, and for some reason, I took pride in frosting the various varieties of doughnuts, even though I had to follow guidelines that were probably decided by a committee in a conference room in some faraway corporate office. And why would she? She doesn’t care that I’ve been here since four this morning. “No, four is good.” She glances at me for not even a second before returning to her text conversation, or game, or whatever it is she’s doing that is apparently more important to her than her order. “Just four? Are you sure you wouldn’t rather have a half dozen?” Her thumbs fly across the screen as she stands in front of the counter. “Give me four.” The woman making the request doesn’t even bother to look up from her phone. Visit me on the web: Follow me on FacebookĢ. Please note that this work is intended only for adults over the age of 18 and all characters represented as 18 or over.īook cover designed by Kaya Woodward Cover Design The characters are all productions of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locations is purely coincidental.
This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
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